<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>here grow the roses by neonheartbeat</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416978">here grow the roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat'>neonheartbeat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Class Differences, Cottagecore, England (Country), F/M, Gen, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Murder, Muteness, Other, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rey (Star Wars) is a Mess, Rey is a Palpatine (Star Wars), Secret Crush, Social Anxiety, Soft Ben Solo, Verbal Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:01:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ms. Rey Palpatine, poet and youngest-ever recipient of the T.S. Eliot Prize, leaves London for a holiday to finish writing her third book at her family's estate, which she has inherited upon the death of her grandfather, outside Marlborough. The caretaker of the estate, a man called only Ben, does not speak to her. </p><p>She embarks on a journey of discovering herself, her past, and the secrets the estate holds in its very stones and earth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux &amp; Rey &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Maz Kanata &amp; Rey, Rey &amp; Rey's Father (Star Wars), Rey &amp; Rey's Mother (Star Wars), Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Sheev Palpatine &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Sheev Palpatine &amp; Rey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Best of Reylo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Will contain some themes I'll warn for in every chapter update! </p><p>Cottagecore reylo based on a prompt I wrote forever ago in August that wouldn't let go of me, etc, all apologies why do I even HAVE five works completed and not posted like a coward? Enjoy I beg you</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>One thousand voices cried out into the dust of silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The things you never said remain</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>unuttered, caught in a throat too worn to hold them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Our eyes lie heavy on the rim of the world;</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>glorious decay, living and breathing</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>below our feet in all the rushing wind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey set her pencil down and frowned at her notebook. She’d been staring at the last three lines for an hour, and the train was too warm to think properly. At least, that was what she told herself. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, glad she hadn’t done anything to it that morning when she’d left London. The tea resting on her tray had long since gone cold, leaving a murky brown ring around the inside of the cup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll never finish your book at this rate,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought dismally, and looked out the window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>High summer: her favorite time of year, and she was wasting yet another one trying to run herself into the ground and write a third poetry book after her first two had won a Christopher Tower and T.S. Eliot Prize, respectively. Who ever said self publishing as an eighteen-year-old couldn’t be done? Rey felt slightly smug when she remembered the phone call to her grandfather five years back: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look, granddad, I’ve gone and finally done something you’ll be impressed by. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had approved, in his still-somehow-disapproving manner. His words still echoed in her mind, too: </span>
  <em>
    <span>well, then, you ought to come and visit for a bit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, of course. He’d died two years after. Rey didn’t feel guilty, much, about not having made it up to see him: he had been a cranky old codger who had ruined her father’s life with his airs and high expectations. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Family therapy should have been an option in the seventies and eighties,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought, tapping her pen on the notebook absently as she stared out into the summer meadows of North Wessex. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Granddad had wanted him to go to Oxford, to be like the old family had been in the golden glory days Granddad remembered (which was probably before the Second World War, judging by his age) before they’d lost all their pomp and jewels or whatever the hell they’d used to own: it had never been very clear. Rey had spent her earliest years with Dad at the estate that her grandfather had owned, Queensbury, but they had moved away from Marlborough and into London, in council housing in the East End, when she was… seven? Eight? And after that, Dad… she remembered her father chain-smoking cigarettes, frantically trying to budget, sending her to the chip shop to get dinner most nights, if they had the money, that was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never been university material, to her grandfather’s great disappointment. There was always the terror, ever-present, that Social Services would take her away. Whenever things got terrible, though, really hard, Granddad would send money. Not much, not enough to truly set their minds at ease, but enough to tide them over until Dad could get more shifts at work. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t have you depending on handouts,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granddad would say, cool and calculated, over the telephone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pull yourself up by the bootstraps. That’s what I did. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey realized she was glaring out the window, thinking about her grandfather, and made herself relax. He hadn’t even attended Dad’s funeral, so she hadn’t seen a reason why she should have gone to his. The poor solicitor who’d called her up a few days later to read the will had thought he had died without any children: that was how dreadful Granddad was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I got the estate,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought with a stab of vindication, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I got all his money. </span>
  </em>
  <span>All of it, every red penny. Thousands of pounds. Enough to have supported Dad, even, if only he had managed to outlive his own father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook herself out of her thoughts, which were likely going to make her cry in public on the train to Swindon, and checked her pocket to make sure her things were still there. She could feel the silhouette of a key through the yellow envelope the barrister had handed it to her in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Key to the cottage, check. Ticket for the bus from Swindon to Marlborough, check. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d liked living there as a child: walks in the downs, walks by the river, playing in the hedgerows and frightening sheep all comprised the fragile, happy memories of those halcyon days. It was good, solid country land, with heavy clay and water underfoot and nothing but open sky above: an excellent place for a holiday house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, she wasn’t going to get any more writing done today anyway. Rey shut her notebook and snapped the elastic band around the cover, tucking it away into her bag before sitting back and letting her eyes drift shut as the train rattled along.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey got off the bus in Marlborough and stretched her legs, groaning as she plopped her suitcase down on the high street and got her bearings. She had the address, but she’d have to rent a car to drive there— she remembered it was some distance away from the main town. Maybe even a few hours, she thought, suddenly feeling knocked a little off kilter. Someone should know where it was, though: she remembered it being a fairly large farm. She screened her eyes against the late afternoon sun and saw a bustling pub: someone there should know something about where her grandfather’s old estate was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stepped in, lugging her suitcase, and became very much aware upon stepping in that she was out of place. Most of the men and women in the pub wore sturdy jeans, cardigans, jumpers, boots: clothes made for farm work or walking. Rey felt like a bent nail in a line of straight ones in her floral-printed, brown midi skirt and blouse, even though she had on sturdy, laced boots. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, the owner of the pub, a tiny woman who had to be at least eighty and wore enormous glasses, peered over the counter at her. “Hullo!” she said, smiling. It was astounding that she still had all her teeth. “Why, if it isn’t little Regina Palpatine! Come to see the place, have you? We thought you might be. Nobody ever knows these days, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just Rey now,” said Rey, finding herself smiling anyway: memory was creeping back of herself sitting on one of those very barstools, sipping a fizzy pop out of a grownup, frosted mug, while the same woman smiled at her. “Didn’t you used to give me whipped cream on my pop?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That I did, and Heaven knew you needed the extra food,” she said. “Poor thing. You’ve grown up, haven’t you, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have. I mean, I’m twenty-four, now, anyway,” Rey said, taken aback. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember your name.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mazie, dear; Mazie Jones, and I’ve been here about as long as the building has, but everyone calls me Maz. Now. You’ll likely need a ride, won’t you? I told that boy, I told him ‘you ought to wait in town for her’ but of course he never listens, not to old Maz, no sir.” Maz darted from behind the counter and picked up her cell phone (a flip phone, Rey was amused to see) and dialed as she peered through her enormous spectacles, then held it to her dark ear. “Yes? Hello! Yes, I know what you’re likely thinking, but you’re wrong. She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> here in the Green Oak, and she’s got a suitcase and a bag and I am not having her walk five miles to Queensbury </span>
  <em>
    <span>uphill</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so you had better get down here at once with that car of yours.” She hung up and turned to face Rey. “And you look like you need something to eat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really, no, I ate on the train,” protested Rey, but found herself being hustled up onto a stool anyway. Her feet touched the bottom rung, now. How peculiar. “Maz, really—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense. Aero bar and a cold cup of tea, more like. What you need is shepherd’s pie and a good hot cuppa.” Maz turned back and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a plate, and Rey inhaled the heavenly aroma of beef, potatoes, cheese, gravy, onions, and peas. Her belly grumbled, and she realized she was, in fact, very hungry. “There,” said Maz, setting it down with a fork. “You eat that and I’ll get you some pasties to take along. Heaven knows that boy of your grandfather’s would live on cold toast and air if he could.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What boy?” Rey asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. She envisioned some sort of young teenaged orphan, Oliver Twist style, maybe wearing an old-timey cap and overalls. Had Granddad taken in someone? Not bloody likely. He never did anything for charity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The boy, the—ah, his name’s Ben.” Maz waved dismissively. “He’s the caretaker: he’s been living up there for a few years keeping the place in order for your grandfather. Gardening, maintenance, driving about, food— those sorts of things. He keeps to himself. You’ll be in good hands for as long as you stay. How long d’you think you’ll be staying, child?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ah.” Rey swallowed, trying to get the mental image of a teenager driving her to her cottage out of her head. “I thought, well, it’s May now, and I thought I’d stay till August, or— as long as it takes me to get my, ah, third book of poetry finished, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Poetry, ah,” said Maz, arching an eyebrow. “Not the proper sort of poetry that rhymes, is it? It’s the modern stuff that doesn’t make a lick of sense and goes all over the place?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey flushed. “That’s— yes, it is,” she said, and shoveled more pie into her mouth so she didn’t say anything rude. Rhyming poetry was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there were so many limits on what you could and couldn’t fit into a meter or line. She didn’t expect Maz to understand that, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We can’t all be Emily Dickinson,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, sipping her hot cup of tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had just finished her pie and been handed a wrapped, waxed-cloth parcel of hot pasties when the door to the pub opened and Maz turned, smiling brightly. “Ah, there he is! Go on with you, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey finished her tea and turned, sliding off the stool, turning to see—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s... not a boy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked more like a huge, shaggy Clydesdale. Both broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his head ducked, and dark, unkempt hair hung down across his forehead, in his eyes, but she could see a perfectly enormous, likely once-broken nose jutting out of the mop and a mouth that seemed to turn down at the ends beneath the nose. His chin was weak and crooked, and his lips were full: moles spattered his cheeks and nose, and a slight hint of dark stubble was gathering above his upper lip and on his jaw. A long, ugly scar ran through his left cheek, from the corner of his eye to his jaw. Both ears stuck out of his dark hair, just the tips showing, and even stranger, as Maz dragged her over, suitcase in tow, he did not make eye contact with either her or the old woman. He wore a grey jumper and thick blue jeans, his solid, heavy workman’s boots hardly making a sound, even though he must weigh at least thirteen stone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well!” said Maz, brightly, as if coming into close contact with a huge, grumpy-looking man who refused to look at her was a completely normal, everyday thing. Rey automatically stiffened as she drew nearer. He was very tall: likely over six feet, even though he wasn’t standing up straight. “This is Regina. Goodness, but you made it fast.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Rey,” said Rey, put off and slightly unsettled. “Just Rey. Please. And you’re— you’re Ben, Maz says?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both eyes darted up to her face, as if testing whether she was addressing him, then back down to the floor. He nodded sharply, and reached out his hand to take her bag. Rey was struck by the sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>size</span>
  </em>
  <span> of those hands: twice the width of hers, they made her suitcase look like a briefcase as she passed it to him, his fingers brushing hers as he lifted it away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful,” said Maz, smiling. “Well, I shall let you get to it, then. Don’t hesitate to pop in for a visit if you like, Rey dear— we have trivia every other Thursday, and open mic nights the first Friday of every month, if you like that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I— of course,” said Rey, still bewildered as Ben turned and walked back out the door into the light of the early evening. She had no choice but to follow him out into the street, where he lifted her luggage into the boot of a battered, mint-green Mini Cooper before shuffling to the passenger side door and opening it for her. He was, she noticed as she slid in, a little pigeon-toed, his large feet turning a bit inward as he walked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben did not speak as he started the car, or as he began to drive down the high street up to the juncture with the A346. Rey put her head against the cool window and watched the early evening stretch the last of the sunset across the sky in shades of gold, orange, rose, and lavender. “I haven’t been to the cottage in a long time,” she said aloud. Maybe he was just shy. “Not since I was eight or nine, I think. I grew up here, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t speak, but she caught an expression flit across his face as his eyes flashed over to meet hers in the rear-view mirror. Carefully, he flicked the right-hand turn signal on, and turned right on St. Martins. Rey sighed. This man obviously didn’t like the fact that he had a new boss, and so was giving her the silent treatment. She hadn’t thought Granddad would be that great to work for, but was her entrance really that unwelcome? “I’m… sorry for springing myself on you so last minute,” she continued, unsure of whether or not she should look at him when he was clearly focused on driving. She decided to, anyway. “I don’t know if there’s any other staff at the cottage, but I— I won’t be a bother. I’ll stay out of your way, if you’ve got… a routine, or something, that you like to stick to. I’m sure you do, if you’ve been working there a few years like Maz said.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s eyes met hers again, very briefly, and he nodded shortly, much like he had in the pub, before turning his eyes back to the road. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay. So he wanted her to stay out of his way. That was fine. Rey’s eyes felt hot behind their lids, and she willed herself not to start crying in this strange man’s car: she’d done so much staying out of the way and keeping to herself as a child, a teenager… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get over it!</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought angrily, scrubbing at her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a grown woman. He’s got every right to be upset that he has to look after someone else now, and Granddad was probably awful to him, so why should he expect you to be any less terrible?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m not my grandfather,” she managed, her voice thick, and Ben’s eyes met hers again, wide and surprised in the mirror: he did a double-take, then pulled the car over to the side of the road, the tires crunching in the gravel as he fished around in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. “Oh, God,” she said, and dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide from that gentle, stricken gaze. “No, I’m being ridiculous, I’m sorry: you don’t need to pull over for me. I don’t— I haven’t got a single idea what Granddad was like to you, but I— I’m not horrible. I promise. Or, at least, I try not to be. I’ve never had staff in my life, you know. Did they even tell you why I was coming?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shook his head, careful and slow, then tilted it slightly, as if asking: </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course not.” Rey blew her nose. “I’m a published poet. I’m trying— my agent wants a third book out by next year and I’m trying so hard to just get it done, and I— I’m really just out here to relax and write and take some time for myself, because it’s been a rough couple of years. I suppose if I’m being perfectly honest, my first book was written when Dad died, and my second was written when Granddad died, so it’s all very morbid and tragic and angry— and I don’t, I— honestly, I don’t even know if I can write </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span> without being morbid or sad or upset. Isn’t that ridiculous?” Rey wiped her eyes again. “I mean, I suppose everyone’s got imposter syndrome, but honestly. I don’t know. I—I don’t know why I’m telling you this. But you’re a good listener, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s mouth twisted in a half-wry little smile, and he nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and I’ve ruined your hanky, I’m so sorry.” She made to give it back, but he shook his head and held his palm up while checking the mirror and starting the car again, so she tucked it into her pocket and sniffled again. “You must think I’m absolutely raving mad. Strange woman crying in your car about her life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pulled back out into the road, and she looked up to see Ben glancing at her in the mirror. When she met his eyes, he shook his head, and focused on the road from there on out, and neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Ben had driven the little mint-green Mini had trundled off the main road up the hill and through a pair of high brick walls dripping in ivy on either side, then pulled into the drive of the cottage, he got out and held the door for Rey. Her boots crunched on the gravel of the drive as she took in the sight: the cottage was almost exactly how she remembered it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nestled into the corner of the property, away from the main house her grandfather had lived in, and closer to the thick overgrowth that protected it from the road, the grey stone building sat half-covered in what looked like a single, ancient climbing rose the size of a small tree, fragrant white blossoms spilling over the doors and windows. The roof was shale, weathered and old, but still strong, and the path leading to the door had been changed from gravel to flagstones. Rey was so lost in contemplation that she jumped, startled, when Ben shut the boot of the car, her suitcase in one hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She followed him into the cottage, taking in the interior. The lights were on, casting a soft golden glow off the white-painted walls and the wood-beamed ceiling, and a kettle on the stove was whistling angrily. Ben set her suitcase down and darted to the stove, taking it off the hob and setting it aside on a potholder before fetching a cup from a cabinet and turning to look at her with one eyebrow raised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Ah. Earl Grey, please.” Rey put the pasties in the fridge and looked around, feeling an odd sense of displacement: the kitchen had been remodeled from the nineteen-sixties decor she recalled, the countertops all replaced. It was not quite the same… but it was close. And it smelled like home, anyway: a dying fire was glowing in the tiny sitting room, and the roses’ scent was drifting into the kitchen from the open windows. She felt a cool gust up her arm and shivered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben set the mug of tea on the table for her, and she sipped it gratefully. He watched her for a moment before rummaging around in a drawer and pulling out an envelope, handing it to her. Rey took it, frowning: hopefully not a letter from Granddad. The last thing she wanted was to hear from him beyond the grave. “Thank… you?” she said, turning it over. There was no name on the outside. “What’s this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed. The thick bob of his pale throat gave her pause: he looked lost, but his fingers were trembling a little. Ben ducked his head low again and pointed at himself, one solid finger touching his sternum below the gray jumper he wore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sake</span>
  </em>
  <span>: did he have a cold? Lost his voice? Why didn’t he just tell her what the matter was? “From you?” she asked, but his expression had gone entirely blank, and he slipped out of the kitchen and through the door, disappearing into the twilight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What in the hell. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She opened the envelope and pulled out a few sheets of paper— but the writing wasn’t Granddad’s spidery, scrawling up-and-down script: this was printed, slightly cramped, but neat enough to read quickly, which she did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ms. Palpatine— </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Please allow me to welcome you back home. I know it has been a very long time since you were here last, but I hope you enjoy your stay regardless, whether it is a long or a short one. I have set you up in the room Mr. Palpatine had informed me your father used to stay in when you were a child, and I hope it is to your satisfaction. If not, let me know and I will make other arrangements. I have the other key to the cottage, and can easily drop items off for your use.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A few things. </span>
  </em>
</p><ol>
<li><em><span> I stay in the room over the stables when I’m not pulling night watchman duty in the main estate house. If you see lights on in strange places, it is (probably) not a ghost, just me, so don’t be alarmed. </span></em></li>
<li><em><span> The hot water takes a very long time, because the heater was installed right around World War II. I’ve ordered a new one, but I have no idea when it will arrive— hopefully this summer— so be prepared to wait up to half an hour for hot water when you need it. </span></em></li>
<li><em><span> You may see some sheep or cows in the fields or horses in the stables and pastures. They’re not ours: your grandfather rented out much of the property for use and I have continued the practice. The owners, farmers, or hired hands might come onto the property for this purpose. I’ve given instructions for them to leave the cottage, the greenhouse, and the garden alone. </span></em></li>
<li><em><span> I usually make and eat dinner in the cottage every night before I do my rounds. The kitchen in the main house is unusable. If you have any objections to eating with me I will make other arrangements. I’ve left plenty of food for you in the refrigerator and the cupboards. I didn’t know if you had any dietary restrictions, so I got some of everything. Please let me know, either way.</span></em></li>
<li><em><span> The bathroom door in the cottage is old and may not close all the way. Give it a good hard kick to shut and a yank to open. </span></em></li>
<li><em><span> The 4G here is spotty, but I’ve sent for a modem to be installed as soon as possible. Your grandfather was not one for much modern technology. Apologies. </span></em></li>
</ol><p>
  <em>
    <span>Again, if you have any concerns or issues, I am more than happy to fix them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ben</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey blinked at the letter. So, he wouldn’t talk to her— or couldn’t—and didn’t mention it in the letter, which meant that it must be some temporary thing he hadn’t foreseen being an issue? But hadn’t Maz called him on the phone? Or… Rey thought back, frowning. No, she had called him, but now that Rey thought about it, Maz hadn’t let him get a word in edgewise and said nothing about it at all. Regardless, the letter was far more considerate than she’d expected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he’s just shy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he has a speech impediment or something, a stutter or a lisp he’s self-conscious about. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey folded the letter neatly and tucked it into her pocket, heading to her suitcase and lugging it up the spiral stairs, her tea in the other hand. A hot bath would really be the thing, but if Ben was to be believed, she might be waiting for half an hour. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not as if I’ve got plans tonight,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought wryly, and stepped up into the master bedroom, which had been made up: wood was ready for the fire to be started in the little fireplace, and the enormous bed had been thoughtfully turned down for her, with clean towels folded and waiting on the foot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took off her boots, grabbed a towel, opened her suitcase, and pulled out her pajamas and clean underwear. The tiny wood door leading to the bathroom was just as she remembered it, and she smiled to herself as she swung it open, stepping over the ledge and down into the bathroom. The tile was cool, and she quickly stripped down and started the tap in the ancient clawfoot enamel tub under the shuttered window. It was stuffy, though, so she cracked both the shutter and the window open for some fresh air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was nice and brisk out, and she enjoyed the feeling of the soft night air on her bare skin as she sat on the edge of the tub, waiting. There were still plenty of books on the shelves. Maybe she should go get one to read to pass the time. She went back to her suitcase for toiletries and had just finished setting everything where she liked it on the sink when the unmistakable sounds of faint music floated through the window, setting her hackles up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A ghost,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought immediately, then banished that childish thought away. Of course ghosts weren’t real, not in the literal sense, anyway. More likely someone was playing the radio. Rey frowned and went closer to the window to listen. That was piano music, the tune undeniably Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. There was no WiFi, so someone must have a CD or record going, then, and since the only other person around for miles was Ben, it must be him. She stepped into the tub and peered out the window, but there was no light on anywhere except in the windows of the first floor of the estate house, where a dim golden rectangle across the drive was the only sign that someone was up. It was nine o’clock, and the moon was full, shining its silvery light across the yard and garden. A shiver crept up her spine: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Moonlight Sonata. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She listened, though, mesmerized by the music. Whoever had played it had had an ear for music, and conveyed mood and emotion beautifully. Rey wondered who the artist was. She listened for so long at the open window that she didn’t realize the water had finally gotten hot until curls of steam started coming up to dampen her hair, and she quickly turned away, closed the window, and plugged the tub up, easing herself into the hot bath with a sigh as the day’s worth of travel washed off her skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Rey was sufficiently ready for bed, she paused at the door, then turned and opened the other bathroom door, the one that led into the playroom she’d used as a child. It was smaller than she remembered, but the daybed was still there, along with a shelf of childhood books she hadn’t been able to bring with her. She walked in and picked up a pillow, holding it to her face and inhaling deeply, as if she might be able to smell her childhood again there: her mum, Dad, summer days in the hedgerows, tromping through mud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She only smelled fabric freshener. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, well. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey set it down and pushed her disappointment away to the back of her mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This will be a good place for me to write. There’s already so much material. Themes. Lost childhood. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Making her way back to the big bedroom, she shut the door to the stairs and opened the window, plugging her phone into the outlet and flicking it on before lying down and closing her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The piano music was still playing, faint and soft: Chopin, now. She let it take her away into sleep, and dreamed of her father.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. threshold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The smell of eggs and toast woke her up, and she sat up in bed, bleary-eyed and confused: this wasn’t her flat, with the dreary London weather pattering at the windows to be let in. This was— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then she remembered, and got out of bed, hurriedly belting on a robe and padding downstairs with her dirty mug from the night before, but not before washing her face and brushing her hair into a ponytail. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see her with crusty eyes and a bird’s nest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was in the kitchen, silently working over the hob, and she smelled beans and sausage. “Good morning,” she said, blinking: he wore a dark navy jumper today with his thick canvas pants, standing in his socks by the stove, and mud-stained boots were waiting by the door. How early had he been up? Her stomach growled at the smell of the food: she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper hot breakfast. Her eating habits were just sad, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned and greeted her with a careful nod, pointed at the kitchen table, then went back to cooking. She sat down in the chair with the place setting, saw he’d made coffee in a French press, and poured herself a healthy cup. “Oh, thank God,” she mumbled as the rich, dark bitter brew seemed to flow right into her brain and wake her up. “I can say Americans have one thing right, and that’s coffee in the morning instead of tea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s mouth quirked up at the corner in a half-smile. She could see the way his cheek lifted from this angle. “Oh, and I read your letter. I don’t have any dietary issues or— anything, um, I’m not picky. Or gluten-free, or vegan. Anything like that. And I’m fine eating dinner with you. Do you normally eat breakfast— well, of course you do, in here, you said the kitchen in the big house was unusable.” He nodded and walked over, setting a tray of breakfast down for her. “And lunch?” Another nod. “That’s fine. I’d like to get out and explore the place as much as I can, you know, just to get my bearings again. It’s so... strange coming back here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben sat down across from her as she started in on the toast, beans, sausage, and eggs, and didn’t hold back from tucking into his own plate. He ate like he hadn’t seen a meal in three days, but maybe a man as big as he was just burned through calories like mad. Rey sipped her coffee between forkfuls before remembering. “Oh! And what record was that, that you were playing last night? It was beautiful. The piano music?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man froze, fork halfway to his lips, and looked at her with startled eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, that was an odd reaction. Was he afraid he’d kept her awake? “It’s all right. It didn’t interfere with me sleeping. I opened the window to listen and drifted right off. Actually, I heard it in the bath first, when I was waiting on the hot water—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s ears turned bright red and he lowered his head, shoving more food into his mouth. Rey paused, aghast: great, now she was talking about herself taking a bath in front of this strange man who didn’t talk to her. “Christ, I’m sorry,” she began, covering her eyes. “No, no, I only meant to say the music was lovely, and— never mind.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head sharply and finished his food, swallowing and taking his plate to the sink before shooting her a look and jabbing his thumb at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey flushed. “Yes, I’ll go get dressed, I’m nearly done anyway. I’ll meet you at the door? Outside?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded. Well, that seemed as plain as anything. Rey took her plate over to the sink, meaning to wash it, but he took it from her hands and set it in the sink, motioning up at the ceiling again, so she hustled to the stairs while he started the tap for the washing.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have the best collection of walking-on-farms clothing, but came out of the house wearing her sturdy boots, a pair of black jeans, a white jumper, and the one thing she’d managed to scavenge from her dad’s closet when he’d died: a brown waxed men’s Barbour jacket that was still too big for her frame. Rey shoved her hands in the pockets and sniffed as she approached Ben, who wore a Carhartts tan-colored jacket over his own jumper. The Barbour jacket still smelled like Dad’s cigarettes, and even though she rationally knew it was probably horrible for her to breathe secondhand smoke, she couldn’t bring herself to get it dry-cleaned, not even after three years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All right,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I won’t take up your whole morning. Although it’s only seven, by my watch, and you look like you’ve been up since three.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raised a shoulder and let it fall before walking off in the direction of the garden. Clearly, he had a plan, and Rey hurried along behind him, feeling like she had to take two steps for every one of his. Funny, out of doors he seemed to stand straighter, which definitely put him over six feet tall. She pulled her notebook from her pocket and scribbled down her thoughts so far: </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell smoke can’t get cleaned father loss: holding on? morning. walking. big man. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were near the garden, now, and Ben walked down the rows of vegetables, nodding at each row. Rey bent down to see the labels, and smiled to herself: his cramped, careful handwriting marked what each row was, and when it had been planted. Peas, beans, cucumbers, carrots, peppers, parsnips, turnips, beets, radishes: clearly Ben was a man of multiple talents, because there didn’t seem to be a single plant in want of watering or weeding, and all of them were healthy and grew high and green. “This is lovely,” she said, touching a trailing pea tendril. “They’ll be ready in the fall, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded and headed for the greenhouse, which she remembered well. She’d spent hours in that greenhouse playing with compost and making castles, houses, forts and ditches under the rose bushes and tomato plants. Ben opened the door and motioned to her, and she stepped in to see a tangle of beautiful flowers, hydrangeas and violets and orchids and roses, all spilling over tables and across the path that bisected the little building’s frame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” she breathed, warm from head to toe already. “Did you do all this?” Ben bent his head a little and nodded, looking at the ground before darting a glance up to meet her eyes. “It’s amazing. So different from what I remember. And you have all the tomatoes back there, you moved them…” Rey walked along the tables, and struck by a sudden memory ducked under the last one on the right, looking up underneath it and tracing the wood with her fingers, smiling when she felt it: </span>
  <em>
    <span>R.P. AGE 7</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d carved it with a stolen penknife from Granddad’s study, and Dad had been terrified Granddad would find out… but he hadn’t. Never had. She’d been too clever for that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben cleared his throat, which startled Rey into crawling out from under the table: she’d never heard him make a noise before at all. He was pointing at something in the other corner, and as she got up and brushed her jeans clean of dirt she saw what it was: a small table and a white-painted wrought iron chair, positioned at just the right angle to view the rolling fields beyond the house. Rey walked over to it, delighted at the thoughtful placement, and let her hand trail along the metal of the back of it, the scrolls. She’d seen this chair before, somewhere, but… “Did this come from the… house?” she asked, half-hesitant as she glanced over at Ben.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t paying attention. Both eyes were fixed on her fingers as they absently traced the iron, watching their every move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed. “Ben?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jolted out of his reverie and stared at her directly, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes weren’t black or dark at all, but a warm, heartwood color ringing the pupils and flecked a hazel-green from the inside out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like a forest. Green and brown. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I just asked if the chair’d come from the house, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A short nod was her answer, and he looked away, his hands clenched into two tight pale fists the size of her head. Rey took a step back. “I didn’t— did I say something wrong?” she asked, bewildered by his seeming change in mood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben took a deep breath and turned back to look at her before shaking his head no and sighing deeply, his shoulders heaving. One hand rose and beckoned, and she followed him down and out of the greenhouse, down the path to the stables.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>By ten in the morning, he’d shown her the whole property, including the horses boarding in the warm, dim stables who whickered and snuffled at Rey when she came near, the sheep and cows in the pastures, and the geese and ducks by the pond way down at the end of the country road, where the river had been diverted into a quick-eddying pool so the cows could drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was starting to feel more at ease around Ben. He was really a fantastic listener, nodding and tilting his head and frowning when appropriate.  Very capable, too: she watched him lift stones back up to repair a damaged wall on the way back up the hill to the house. Those shoulders looked like a pair of cannonballs, even under that jumper and jacket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reached the main house, and Ben opened the front door with a nod to her, as if inviting her inside. Rey crossed over the threshold and became engulfed, suddenly, in the very specific sensation of being about five years old again, and in a place she should not be, with the hair on the back of her neck standing up as if Granddad was about to storm in and shout down the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben seemed to understand, because he shut the door and indicated the open sitting room to the left, which was badly lit, slightly drafty, and furnished with ancient sofas and chairs from at least a hundred years ago. Rey sat down gingerly on one of them as he crossed over to the window and yanked the heavy brocade curtains aside, then went to stoke the fire up. Her eye fell on a gleam of black wood as the light hit the room in full, and she blinked. A grand piano was sitting in the corner: a perfectly enormous grand piano that had been recently dusted by the gleam of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s no radio in here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she realized, and took in a small breath. Had Ben been… </span>
  <em>
    <span>playing</span>
  </em>
  <span> the piano? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t think of a way to ask him that didn’t sound weird, though. “I guess there’s a lot of rooms in this house,” she said instead, tapping her dirty boots on the carpet. He let out a soft huff of air and shook his head. “No? I bet it’s haunted, though. Granddad always said he thought it was. And now that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>dead…” Rey shuddered. Ben’s lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head, his brows knit together. “No? No ghosts? I know you said there weren’t any, but. Ugh. I expect the house is ancient. Granddad said it was built in the Middle Ages.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wry smile crossed the man’s full mouth, and he went over to the piano, picked up a sheet of paper, and wrote something before turning it to face her: </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was built in the late 1800s. Not that old. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, that can’t be,” insisted Rey, frowning. “He always said it was in the family since the Wars of the Roses.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More scribbling, the scratching of a stubby pencil on paper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nope. Sorry to disappoint. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood and went to the fire, warming her chilly hands and trying to get her mind off that. So much of her early life had been Dad on the phone with Granddad, Granddad bellowing about how the family ought to regain its ancient strength and glory and name— acting as if they’d been kings or something, even. She could hear his voice over the telephone, creaking and old, repeating what he’d said practically every birthday: </span>
  <em>
    <span>my girl, this house and this name has been with us since the Yorks fought the Lancasters.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Had it all been built on a lie? No, that wasn’t possible. Granddad was a proud old codger, but he’d never… lie about something like that, would he? “How do you know?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scribble, scrape, scratch. She looked back over her shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have the deed. Date is on there. 1890. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey turned and stared into the fire again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He lied? How? How could he lie? He can’t have lied. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her hands were shaking a little. She clenched them into fists to stop it. “I think. I think I’d like to go back to the cottage,” she managed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stood. She turned away, and practically ran out through the door to the drive, feet crunching in gravel as tears streamed from her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spent the afternoon huddled in the sitting room, scribbling out line after line, reworking, pacing, and crying quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not fair. It can’t be a lie. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So many years of Dad trying to make her life work, to keep her safe, and being constantly driven into the ground by Granddad, and for </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> A family name and estate that was crumbling apart? Did Granddad think Dad needed to be worthy of a place barely two hundred years old? Anyone could have been worthy of some awful Georgian brick house. Anyone. But this was her family home, her home now. If Ben was being truthful, that would mean Dad had worked so hard, for nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she’d done for years, she tried to vent it through poetry, to not chase the bad feelings away but to reshape them, lay them down neatly, view them objectively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and all my words choke in the ashen throat of fury,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>red-rage, ruby as flame, eating me alive</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>why does he rest at the bottom of his grave if I cannot</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>call him out, like Lazarus, alive and ask him— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock at the door surprised her out of her mood. She went to the kitchen door and opened it, and Ben stood on the step, head lowered, hands clasped in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She checked the clock: five-thirty precisely. “Oh. Dinner. Right.” Rey wiped her eyes and stood aside to let him in. “Sorry. Time got away from me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a little expression as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s no big deal,</span>
  </em>
  <span> before going over to the fridge and pulling out the pasties, still in their wraps from the day before. He frowned, then tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes as he gestured to her belly, then the pasties.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asked, fully knowing she was red-eyed and probably needed to wash her face in cold water. He shook his head patiently and tapped his watch, then pointed at her again. “I don’t understand what you’re—” She dragged the heel of her hand against her nose and snapped, letting her temper get the best of her. “Look, Ben, it’s been a rough day, all right, and the last thing I need is playing charades with a man who won’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk to me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for Christ’s sake!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went very still, cheeks flushing dark crimson in either anger or humiliation, before turning, furiously scrawling something down on a piece of scrap paper, and storming out of the cottage, taking the cold pasties with him and letting the door slam shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stumbled over to the counter and looked down at the paper, her eyes watering so badly she could barely read the words printed there: </span>
  <em>
    <span>ASKING IF YOU DIDN’T EAT </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>LUNCH!!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, covered her eyes with her hands, and began to cry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She made herself dinner that evening, alone, sniffling and shoving the pots and spoons around and feeling sorry for herself. The pantry was stocked with pasta and sauce and the freezer had meatballs, so she made spaghetti, or at least tried to. Rey had never had the patience for cooking, so the noodles came out still dry and hard at the center, but she sat at the table and ate it anyway, crunching down stubbornly on her partly cooked sauce and half-frozen meatballs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He just wanted to know if I’d eaten. He’s supposed to be the caretaker, watching out for me…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. He was a fucking weird </span>
  <em>
    <span>arse</span>
  </em>
  <span> who wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t explain why he wouldn’t talk, had weird fits, and lied to her about her family’s history— about Granddad, about all of it. Rey viciously shoved another cold meatball into her mouth and chewed. Who did he think he was, claiming her grandfather was a liar? </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is all his fault,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought. Granddad had been a mean old miser, but not a liar: that was impossible, because if Granddad had </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied the whole time… </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t even think about that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a knock at the door, and fury clouded her mind again. “Go away!” she shouted, almost choking on her meatball. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A silence. Long silence. Then another, softer knock sounded, rapping lightly, echoing through the cottage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stormed to the door and flung it open, not caring that she had sauce on her mouth and her eyes were still wet with tears. Ben stood on the step, regarding her with a cautious sort of expression, his shoulders bent. “What?” she demanded, wiping her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes slid to the stove, and then back to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck’s sake.” Rey rubbed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. “Dinner, yeah. You can’t use the— just come in,” she snapped, and stood aside as he shouldered his way in, took his muddy boots off, and walked over to the countertop, taking in the mess she’d left behind. He turned to look at her, and his chest heaved and sighed in a gentle movement before he looked at the half-cold pot of sauce and the pasta sitting on the stove in lukewarm water while he washed his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you think I’m awful at cooking. Well… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said defiantly, slurping a half-raw noodle into her mouth as she sat down at the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not respond, only crossed over, tasted the sauce, tested the pasta, and walked to the spice cabinet, taking down a few containers and sprinkling the sauce, tasting it again, nodding to himself. Rey pretended she wasn’t looking at him. The nerve of this man: lying to her about her own family and then having the audacity to come in here and fix her food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am a terrible cook, though, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought dismally, and pushed her own barely-touched food around, ignoring the fact that she was still hungry. The plate in front of her had lost all appeal in the shadow of the delicious smells suddenly coming from the revived pot of sauce. There was raw pasta, tacky and hard, stuck in her back molars. Her mouth watered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben ignored her entirely as he sliced a loaf of bread and put crushed garlic into a saucepan with butter and oil, then toasted the bread in the broiler while the mixture sizzled. He took the toast out when it was done and brushed it all over with the garlic, and Rey swallowed hard. She loved garlic bread. Maybe she could sneak a piece. He was hardly paying any attention to her. She sidled up off the seat and reached out a hand to the basket he was putting the bread into.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whack. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She withdrew her hand, shocked: he’d smacked the back of her fingers lightly with a wooden spoon. It wasn’t painful, but it startled her. “Oi!” Ben narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head, turning back to the stove. A bottle of red wine was dashed into the sauce, and Rey watched, mouth open: how dare he not give her </span>
  <em>
    <span>garlic bread?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I want—” He turned back, setting the pot down on the counter and raising his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as if he expected something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, that bastard. He didn’t even need to speak, did he? “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>apologizing,” she hissed, eyes prickling. “You lied, I know you lied: my family has been here for a thousand years and, and Granddad </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be telling the truth because if he wasn’t, Dad died for </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you haven’t even got a family!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s brows drew down and he looked away, then took both spaghetti, sauce, and bread to the table, where he sat, heaped his plate up, and started to eat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey gaped at him, infuriated. “Didn't you hear a word I bloody said? Are you deaf?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave her a calculating look and nodded, turning back to his food with the hint of a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?” she seethed. “I’m— I’m the owner of this place now, and I could fire you on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>spot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He ignored her. “I said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m the owner</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memory suddenly crashed into her mind: a memory she thought she’d forgotten. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m the owner of this estate, Bill, and I’ve got as much right to kick you out of that cottage as I please.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granddad, horrible and looming, bellowing at Dad. She’d seen him, from her hiding spot inside… the closet? There’d been a closet, hadn’t there, on the first floor: dark and close and reeking of fur and mothballs, and she’d hid, listening to Dad beg Granddad not to kick them out, for Rey’s sake, and Granddad had shouted and raged…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did he kick us out?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, God, I never knew why, I never asked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey became aware tears were streaming down her face, her vision gone blurry, and she hiccuped, trembling and wiping her eyes. Ben was staring at her with concern written all over his oversized features, half out of his seat, and she choked out something she wasn’t even sure was English before bolting for the door and racing out into the evening, feet stinging as she ran barefoot through the gravel to the main house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The closet. I have to find the closet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t remember why, but she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had to go: something was waiting for her there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A single light was on in the house. Rey darted in and looked around: </span>
  <em>
    <span>there!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Under the stairs: there was a coat-closet, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered</span>
  </em>
  <span> it— remembered the feel of the knob on her hand as she opened the door, remembered the little bench built in that she’d sat on as a child (it seemed much smaller now) and the smell of cedar, and mothballs, and fur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drew her knees up to her chest and began to cry, her face buried in her hands. She’d sat just here, hadn’t she, but what… what had the fight been over? Why had they been sent away? It seemed vital that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>: that she find out at once, but her memory was in patches, all a wreck, and she couldn’t stop crying. A shadow moved outside the crack of the closet door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s going to think I’m mad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, and the door opened slowly, revealing the very concerned face of Ben, who had gotten a torch somewhere and put his boots on, but had no coat. He just stood there, looking at her, and she couldn’t stop sobbing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, go away,” she wept, hiding her face. “I didn’t, I don’t, I don’t want to be my grandfather, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>: he was awful and I, I remembered, I remembered, but I can’t remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> we had to leave, I don’t. Coming, coming here was a mistake, a mistake, I shouldn’t have come and I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry: you put all that effort into making everything ready and I, I can’t do this, I can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a creak of leather and a rasp of denim, and the clicking of the metal torch being set down, and a warm, large hand came down slowly and carefully on hers where it rested, balled into a fist on the little bench. Rey sniffled horribly and wiped her face with her free hand, looking up at Ben, who was crouching by the door, his eyes regarding her with an inscrutable gentleness, honey-warm in the light. His lips parted and worked for a moment, closing again, parting again, and she thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>is he going to speak?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t. Instead, Ben shut his mouth and looked away, his mouth tightening into a line as he sighed, then looked back at her. Dust motes floated in the air like gold in the beams of light from the torch. The hand on hers squeezed slightly, trembling, and then he beckoned with his other hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took in a huge breath. She was still hungry, and very tired. “I’ve been awful to you today. I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry for that, too. I suppose it’s your business, why you won’t talk to me, and I won’t mention it again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben tightened his grip on her hand so subtly that she thought she might have imagined it, his throat bobbed, and was that a trick of the torchlight, or had his eyes filled with tears? But he just nodded and helped her up, and they walked back to the door, where he looked down at her bare feet and then at the gravel drive and picked her up bodily, slinging her over one shoulder like she was a sack of flour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can walk,” she said, half-heartedly. Really, though, being carried was preferable to inching her way across gravel barefoot in the dusk, and he crossed the drive in about a minute, setting her down on the ground by the door to the cottage. Rey got her bearings, and Ben ushered her inside, where he’d already cleared her seat and set a new place with hot spaghetti and three pieces of garlic bread. “Oh,” she said, tearing up again. “Right. Th-thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He motioned to the seat. She sat, and started eating as he cleared up the counter, wiped things down, washed up, and came back with a cup of tea, which he sipped as he sat at the table. Ben didn’t exactly watch her, he just stared off into the middle distance and glanced at her occasionally until she finished eating, and then he reached for the plate when it was empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ll wash it,” she said firmly, snatching it toward her. “You’ve done enough for tonight.” Ben’s lips twitched, but he shrugged and stood, nodding at her and gesturing casually with his mug before walking it to the sink and setting it in the bottom. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll wash that, too. Night, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went to the door and opened it. “And, Ben?” she added, fighting her pride as he turned back to look at her. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no immediate reaction. After a moment, Ben gave a slow nod, and stepped out the door, shutting it gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey opened the window and climbed into bed that night after a cold scrub down with a washcloth and soap. Across the open drive, she could hear the soft strains of a piano playing Debussy floating through the cool night air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slept.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. chilled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>semi graphic description of a cow giving birth!</p><p>some light ableism in this one too poor ben</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next week drew on much the same: quiet breakfasts, mornings spent in the greenhouse, writing, a cold lunch, and dinner with Ben before bed. Saturday brought rain and fog, not uncommon for summers in Wessex, which meant a perfect opportunity to stay inside and write. Ben came over and made them both a light breakfast, then headed out to the fields. Rey curled up in the window seat in the lounge and wrote, trying to channel her emotions from the revelation she’d been given earlier before into her work. The truth of whether or not Granddad had lied about the family’s heritage was moot, now, in the light of day: she had a job to work at.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>a hundred falsehoods fill the mouths of the living:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>the dead speak none at all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>even my father, gone these five years, took— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, this wouldn’t do at all. Her second book had been focused on Dad’s death: why was she bringing it back up here? Irritated, Rey scribbled out the line, and exhaled hard. The kettle was full of tea, and she poured herself another cup, nibbling on a biscuit, and tried again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>under the greenhouse table, last on the left</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I carved my name at seven: table above me<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>and all the world beneath.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>before I learned civil graces, courtesy,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I would roar aloud, racing over the hills. <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>a young lion. a half-forgotten child of Cernunnos<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>garlands of English violets and daisies in my hair,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>and ichor flowing through my veins.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was decent, maybe. Rey chewed on her pencil. Would her editor even know who Cernunnos was? Not everyone had a battered old Celtic history book to pore through at home. She sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should change it to Demeter. Everyone knows who Greek goddesses are.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door creaked open, and she heard the familiar thump and slick squish of Ben’s wet boots. “Back already?” she called, not looking up (he usually spent all day in the pastures doing maintenance, or tinkering in the main house) but he was rushing into the sitting room in a panic, almost spraying her with water off his jacket, eyes wild. “Oh! Hey! Ben, what on earth’s the matter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pointed at the door insistently, torch in one hand, panting for air as if he’d run all the way from the northernmost pasture, and Rey shut her notebook and clambered up, untangling her legs from the thin cotton skirt she’d elected to wear that morning, looking forward to a nice day indoors. “Something’s wrong? I, I— oh, yes, I’ll come along, yeah, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On went her dad’s jacket, and on went her boots, and out into the rain she went, bewildered by Ben’s mood and his frantic energy as they ran together, gasping as the rain sheeted down across them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, I’ll be soaked, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey thought, hurrying along as her boots squelched, half-full of rainwater already. “Where’s the problem?” she shouted over the rain as she followed him up the road to the furthest pasture. She had an awful stitch in her side, and panted as she drew up beside his slowing form.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben led her to a lean-to, built for shelter in the middle of the pasture, and inside—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey froze, horrified. A cow was lying on her side in the lean-to, belly huge and rounded and heaving with labored breaths, and something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sticking out of the cow’s ass. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, wait. That wasn’t right. She re-assessed as Ben set his torch down to illuminate the back end of the cow, crawled in, and felt the cow’s sides. There was something white sticking out of the cow, right under the tail, but that wasn’t the cow’s backside. “That cow’s... giving </span>
  <em>
    <span>birth?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she squeaked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded and listened against the cow’s sides, then moved to the backside of the animal. Rey was completely lost: something was clearly wrong, but she had no idea what it could possibly be. She didn’t know anything about cows, aside from that they had four stomachs and ate grass. “Is… okay. I’ll just start listing off things and you tell me what the problem is?” A sharp nod answered her. “Right. Um.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>well, what goes wrong when people give birth? All those episodes of Call The Midwife I binged have got to be useful for something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Uh. Has something gone wrong with the, um, placenta?” He shook his head. “Is the baby, ah, calf in the wrong position?” His eyes widened and he nodded, then squatted, his arms out in front of him with his head tucked in. “Oh, that’s the right— that’s how they’re supposed to be born?” Ben nodded again and pointed at the white thing, then at his back left foot. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s coming out backwards, you mean.” He nodded again. “Well, how do we, how, what do you want me to do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stripped off his jacket, giving the cow an uneasy look, and took off his jumper for good measure, then rolled the chambray work shirt he had on beneath it up to his elbows. Rey backed up a little as the cow’s body seemed to tighten and roll like the deck of a ship, a low </span>
  <em>
    <span>moo</span>
  </em>
  <span> escaping from her mouth as the white thing didn’t move. He reached into his pocket, came up with a sodden pencil, and picked up a piece of wood lying on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll pull the calf out between contractions. You sit at the cow’s head and calm her down. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey read it. “Lovely,” she said, slightly terrified as she inched closer to the enormous cow. “She’s not, not, I thought these were other people’s cows, why the hell is she having her baby </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shook his head, a soft smile spreading across his face, and flipped the plank over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They don’t choose when. But I’ve already emailed the owner. He’s on his way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did I assume you didn’t have email and just lived in the fields, sending smoke signals or something?” Rey scooted down and plopped next to the cow’s head, looking down at a pair of startlingly human brown eyes, warm and soft and fringed with long lashes. “She isn’t going to bite me, is she?” </span>
  <span>Ben shook his head and squatted down by the cow’s backside. She could see his wet black head, just visible over the round belly, and quickly, Rey stroked the cow’s face. “All right, I guess it’s just you and me, then,” she said softly, patting the cow’s silky ears. “Oh, you feel a bit like a horse. Do you know, I’ve never petted a cow. It’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cow groaned, long and deep, and so did Ben, startling Rey. She looked back up and saw he’d begin slowly working his hand into the cow’s… vagina, she guessed, and her own belly clenched in sympathy for the poor animal. “It’s okay,” she assured the cow, petting her forehead. “Just a bit of, um, medical intervention. You’ll have that baby out soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A contraction wracked the animal’s belly again, and Ben’s mouth tightened as he paused to let it pass, then worked his hand further in. “Have you got it yet?” Rey said, hands pausing on the cow’s neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, sharp and short. Rain scattered off the ends of his hair like diamonds in the light. Rey watched, on edge, her wet skirt sticking to her legs, as he shut his eyes and worked, doing God only knew what inside the cow, until his eyes flew open after the longest thirty seconds she’d ever experienced and he nodded quickly, meeting her eyes. “Oh, great! So d’you pull now, or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cow groaned as another contraction hit, and Ben grimaced, baring his teeth as his neck corded with the strain of pulling. The animal let out a noise like a cry and tried to get up, startling Rey as her back legs kicked, and she thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, fuck, Ben’s back there!</span>
  </em>
  <span> “No, no,” she gasped, tugging on the cow, “no, you stay down here—” Ben waited until the cow was back on her side and another contraction was wracking her to pull again, and again, and again. Sweat was starting to run down Rey’s forehead. It was warm in here, despite the cold rain, and the cow’s body heat didn’t help much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Little by little, out came the calf: both back legs, then hips, gripped by Ben’s sure hands, and then with a low moo, the cow pushed one last time and the rest of the calf, covered in a thin filmy membrane, came slithering out in a mess of clear, goopy, yellowish fluid, blood, afterbirth, and mucus. Ben landed flat on his ass and quickly cleared the film away from the calf’s eyes as it opened them, and the cow jerked to her feet, turned around in the lean-to, and started licking the little thing’s backside as it began to wiggle around, nosing the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” said Rey, astonished, and then, “oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” as Ben staggered to his feet, covered in goop from knee to chest. He picked up his discarded jumper and began to rub the wet calf down, and Rey knelt by him, watching as the little newborn let out a few snuffly moos and sniffed at its mother. He sighed, leaning back and rubbing his arms with a grimace, then gave Rey a small smile, raised an eyebrow, and held his hand up, goopy palm toward her, as if asking for a high five.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God! No! You’re all covered in gunk!” she cried, laughing aloud as he grinned widely, wiggling his broad fingers. Rey hadn’t ever seen him smile before, and thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>he looks ten years younger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His teeth were long, flat, and a little crooked, with pointed eyeteeth, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “You didn’t even need my help, really. You did all the hard work.” Ben shook his head and waved her off, resting his head against the lean-to and wiping his forehead with his upper arm and shoulders as best he could. “I bet the main house barely has a bath,” she said, finger-combing her wet hair out of her eyes as the cow mooed. “You should just use the one in the cottage. I’ll even give you the first go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben seemed to mull this over, then wrote over his previous message on the plank. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll hose off in the stable tap first.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a solid plan,” she told him, and glanced out of the lean-to as she caught headlights beaming white-yellow through the rain and the distant, but growing, sound of a heavy engine. “Oh, someone’s coming. The farmer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben frowned and got up, peering out into the rain, then looked back at her and nodded in confirmation. Rey got to her feet and brushed straw and wet grass from her skirt ineffectively, leaving muddy, green stains as a rumbling pick-up with a trailer attached squeaked to a halt in the wet pasture, and a tall, slim man jumped out of the driver’s seat, holding his jacket above his head as he ran to the lean-to, boots splashing water up around his pounding feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hallo!” he shouted, and edged into the shelter, wiping rain off his face. Rey registered red hair, sunburnt cheeks, and green eyes before he smiled, looking at the calf. “Well, isn’t that little one a looker, ah? Well done, there.” His accent was faintly Irish, and patted the cow on her flank before he turned to look at Ben, who was viewing him dispassionately, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, come off it, then. I’d no idea she was going to calve so soon, least of all while it’s bucketing down like this.” Ben’s other eyebrow went up. The redheaded man sighed. “Fine, Christ. Sorry for the bother. I’ll pay an extra ten percent on the fees to make up for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you’re…” Rey blinked as the man moved past her and shushed the cow, scratching her ears. It was so weird to hear someone else speaking after a week of only hearing herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked back at her. “Oh, sorry. Hux, Armitage Hux, but everyone either calls me Hux or Armie. And who’re you? Solo didn’t mention a girl in the email.” Both green eyes flickered down to take in her sodden, light skirt, which clung to her legs and left nearly nothing to the imagination. Rey flushed, and Ben saw it: he stepped forward sharply and paused in his stride, watching her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Ms. Palpatine,” she said as firmly as she could and in her best RP. “I’m the owner of the property, and I expect you’ll be paying the extra fees to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux’s eyes widened. “Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christ Almighty, I’m sorry. Had no idea.” He tapped his forehead, as if he was doffing a cap. “Yes, of course I’ll pay you the fees. So sorry about the bother. I— once I get them loaded up to take back to the farm, I’m more than happy to give you a lift back to the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That would be nice,” said Rey wiping her forehead again. “We’re both soaked and going to catch our deaths out here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux nodded. “Right, ‘course.” He turned and led the cow out, her calf bleating and trotting clumsily along behind, and Rey stood there in the dim light, Ben’s breathing the only sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just thought of something,” she said aloud, watching Hux load the animals into the trailer. “What if he meant, when he said, give you a ride— just me?” Ben let out a soft sound through his nose, that, were it any harder, would have been called a snort. Rey sighed. “Oh, don’t laugh at me. You saw that look he gave me.” Ben rolled his head a little and raised an arm to scratch his head. Rey rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Look, he’s got them all tucked in. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pick-up truck was ancient, probably dating from the sixties, and since the front passenger seat was full of hay and newspaper, Rey and Ben had to sit in the back seat, uncomfortably squashed together from knee to hip, soaking wet. Rey shifted her weight. Her shirt was clinging to her body, and her skirt was ruined, stuck to her backside. Ben reeked of hay, cow poo, and a musky, earthy, metallic smell she didn’t want to think about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hux chatted with her the whole way back, and she found herself actually liking having a real conversation: his soft Irish lilt and laugh were welcome to her ear. Ben, by contrast, seemed to grow stonier and stiller as the ride drew on. They finally pulled into the drive, and Rey sighed in relief, seeing the lights in the cottage on and waiting. “Thanks a million for the lift,” she said, shivering as Ben opened the door on his side, then shut it, starting to walk around the front and toward her side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Course, mum. Anytime.” Hux turned back, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he swung an arm over the back of the passenger seat. “And if you ever want real company, you know, feel free to ring me up. Solo’s got my number.” He smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey froze. That… was not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> the implication she’d been intending to get across. “Um. Thank you. But I really—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben opened the door for her just in time to hear Hux say, “It’s no matter, mum. I know I’m only a farmer, but even that’s got to be better company than a bally mute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. Ben stood there, dripping in the rain, staring at Hux in silent betrayal as water coursed down his sodden clothes, his jumper in one huge hand. “I— I don’t know what you mean—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come off it, then, Solo,” said Hux, grinning. “What, you didn’t tell her?” He laughed as if he’d made a joke. Neither Rey nor Ben laughed in return. “Lord. No, yeah, he’s mute as a fish, can’t say a word. Gets along fine, though, don’t ya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s thick throat bobbed, his eyes going red, and Rey couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears: he was… he was…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mute. He hasn’t been purposely refusing to speak, he can’t: he can’t speak and I’ve been awful and this, this— </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve changed my mind,” she said sharply, making Hux jerk upright. “You keep your fucking money: I don’t want it. And don’t you ever drop a cow about to calve off in my pastures again.” She slipped out of the truck without waiting for Hux to respond, and slammed the door for Ben, who seemed totally frozen, standing there staring at the vehicle. “Come on,” she said firmly, taking his slick, still-goopy arm. “Inside. Don’t worry about him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben turned and lurched away from her, yanking his arm from her hand, and stormed inside the stables as she hurried to catch up, distressed. Behind her, the truck pulled away, bumping and rumbling over the gravel. “Ben!” she shouted, wiping rain out of her face. “Ben, wait!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The great wooden door swung open and shut, and she scurried in after him, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.. Ben’s boots were already thumping heavily up the length of the stable, a strange gasping noise wheezing out of his throat. It took Rey a moment to understand that he was crying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben, Ben the huge silent caretaker who did everything, could do anything: Ben was crying. “Ben!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She heard the door to the tack room slam shut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Christ, what do I do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Ben?” she called, squelching up and knocking. There was no answer from within. She shut her eyes, horribly embarrassed for him, and furious at Hux. “I, I’ll be right back,” she said, tapping lightly. “Wait, just wait a moment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back out into the rain she went, slopping across the gravel, and into the cottage. Rey saw the teapot and kettle on the hob, and set it to boil, getting down a thermos and the kind of tea Ben preferred: English breakfast, with milk, no sugar. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s probably hungry. I should bring food. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She went to the cupboard and found a packet of Jaffa cakes, then a waxed cloth in the cupboard. After arranging everything in the cloth and wrapping it up, she headed back out into the rain to the stables, boots going </span>
  <em>
    <span>squish-squish</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the mud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tack room door was still shut tight, and Rey set the pack down, knocking lightly. “Ben?” she tried, shivering despite the warm stable. “Ben, I understand if you don’t want to talk— fucking hell. No. That’s not—” She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to be around… me, or people right now. But I brought you some tea. And, uh, cakes. If you want them. Just…” Rey searched her brain for anything that could possibly make talking through a door one-sided with a mute man simple and straightforward. “Tap the door once if you want me to come in with the food, and tap twice if you just want me to leave it here and go back to the cottage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no answer, but she could hear heavy, ragged breathing through the wood. She was about to just get up and go, but then she heard a shift, a dragging scrape of wet fabric on concrete, and then a single, tentative knock on the other side of the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey swallowed, got to her feet, and picked the tray up. “Right,” she said, trying her best to sound as purposeful as she could. “Coming in, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jerked the door open, and the wood out here certainly did swell when it was wet: the squeak and creak was awful. Ben looked worse, though: his eyes were red-rimmed, and his nose was running. He didn’t look at her as she came in and set the thermos and packet of cakes on the tack table, but he finally let himself look up at her as she poured the tea, took the hot cup, and pressed it into his cold, slimy hands. “Drink up,” she said firmly. “And don’t get all that goo on the cakes, either. Wash your hands first, or I’ll have to feed them to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben lowered his eyes and sipped at the tea, shuddering as the heat soaked into him. His soiled jumper was crumpled up on the floor, and his chambray shirt clung to his body like a second skin. Rey was struck by the outline of his torso and arms: he was broad and thick from shoulders to waist, built for strength, not aesthetics. His eyes were fixed on the cakes, though, and her stomach rumbled: they had never eaten lunch. She opened the packet, snapped one up, and popped it in her mouth, enjoying the texture and taste of sponge cake and orange jelly under chocolate. “Ah, here, don’t bother getting up,” she said, and picked up a cake. “Open up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both dark eyes fixed on her, as if he wasn’t sure if this was a prank or not, but she wriggled closer and closed one eye, as if she was about to throw a dart. “Come on, then,” she coaxed. “Open up the tunnel, the train’s coming in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grrrrrrumble.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ghost of a smile darted across his face, and he obediently opened his mouth, letting her slip the cake inside. A few crumbs fell onto his lip, and Rey swiped them away with her thumb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth was… very warm. Very soft, which she hadn’t been expecting, despite the fullness of his lips, somehow: he seemed such a hard, solid person. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A man of contradictions.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Soft mouth, hard nose, soft eyes, hard cheekbones and brow. A steady flush was spreading across those cheekbones, though, and he was looking down, away from her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want another one?” she asked, picking up a second cake, half-hoping to get another go at touching that mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded, and opened his mouth again, eyes fixed on her face as she fed him the cake. Rey’s finger brushed his upper lip again, and his mouth… closed on her finger, lightly, the soft heat of his mouth enclosing her in the briefest of moments before he turned very red and let her go, turning his head away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” she said, suddenly fighting a very strange, unwelcome trembly feeling in her gut. “It, really, it’s fine. Um. Shall— do you want, I suppose I’ll leave so you can get washed up. I, I can take all this back. And, and I ought to hose your boots down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked down at his boots, stained and wet, and nodded, then plucked at his mucus-covered shirt, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes. And I should wash the shirt.” Rey’s cheeks felt very hot. It wasn’t as if she was a blushing innocent, but the idea of seeing this particular man in nothing but his trousers was certainly having an effect on her. “Go on, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben finished his tea and tugged his boots off, then stood and unbuttoned his shirt nimbly, giving Rey hardly a glance as he peeled the soaked fabric off his skin and handed it to her. Rey took the shirt and tried her hardest not to look at him, but he was— he was certainly something else, thick through the trunk, sparse dark body hair, pale where the sun had never touched him, a few old scars littering his arms, and a deep— old puncture wound, perhaps, on his right flank, with another high on his left shoulder. “I’ll go wash this, then,” she said, tearing her eyes away from his body. “And, and, you’ll need clothes, won’t you? I’ll get you a, um, towel, and I can go up to your room and find you something to wear, if you like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His reaction was startling: he jerked his head over to look at her, apprehension written so clearly on his features that she almost took a step back. “I mean, I won’t go through your things. Just your clothes. A jumper and some pants, and trousers, and, and socks. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben searched her eyes, then nodded slowly, and wiped his eyes before turning on the faucet in the huge sink by the window, sighing, and giving her another look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ll leave it out, um, by the door here. For you. Be right back, then.” Rey got up and left the tray there, shutting the door just enough that it wouldn’t stick, and hurried back down the aisle of the stables to the stairs leading up to the loft. The horses, unused to so much excitement, whickered at her as she passed them. “No, no apples or carrots today,” she said, hurrying on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stair leading to the rooms over the stable were sturdy and had been repaired a few times, and Rey climbed up, coming out into a loft room that was wide, floored with long wood planks, and had sloping sides, coming to a point three feet above her head. She found a light switch and flicked it on. There was a bed, carefully made up with an old quilt, along one wall by a window that faced the drive, a braided rag rug, a chest of drawers, and a desk piled high with folders, papers of all kinds, an open notebook, a chair. Curiosity overcame her, and she went to the desk, looking down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was the deed, staring her right in the face from under a corner of a file folder, and Rey lifted it up and read the date: 1890. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was telling the truth. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Granddad was lying. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nausea threatened to overcome her. She lowered the file folder back down to its place and walked to the chest of drawers, pulling it open and finding a soft, maroon jumper, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans, along with a pair of Y-fronts and socks. Rey stuffed all of it into her jacket and hurried back down the stairs, every step a thump that sounded like a death-knell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Granddad was lying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The concrete floor of the stables suddenly felt cold, even through her wet boots.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Granddad was lying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once she’d made it back to the tack room, she listened, and heard the sound of a tap running, a noise, a grunt. Splashing, gentle. Water dribbling off a body. Rey set the clothes down in front of the door silently and, against all her better judgement, looked through the crack of the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was leaning against the sink, washing himself with water from the tap, a chunk of yellow soap, and a flannel. The way he was standing meant that she could see every dip and curve of hard muscle in his pale back, the way just a bit of softness clung to his waist, the twin divots flanking his lower spine, and below that, the slight curve of his backside, furred in pale, soft hair that caught the dim light. As he stepped to the side, she could see the shadowed, but unmistakable movement between his legs, a slow swing of heavy flesh— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She jerked away from the door, her heart pounding. Spying on a man washing himself was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what she’d come to do: leave the clothes and go was what she should do. “I’ve got your th-things,” she called, suddenly as cold as anything, and heard movement. “I’ll leave them out here. Be, ah, in the lounge in the cottage. With a fire going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he came into the cottage a half hour later, damp-haired and cozy-looking, Rey was huddled in front of the smoking fire, shivering. She hadn’t been able to get the thing to start hardly at all, and had been able to only produce a few short-lived flareups of flame before the whole thing had sputtered and died on her again and again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben crossed the floor and knelt in front of the stove, peered in, and nodded as if he knew what the problem was. Rey sat back, still cold, and let him work: first went kindling, torn newspaper and small sticks: then larger sticks, then logs. He lit a match to the paper and blew gently, coaxing the fire into life, and before long it was crackling cheerily in the iron bowels of the stove. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sighed and held her hands out as blessed heat washed over her. “I really am entirely useless,” she grumbled. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A soft snort, and Ben sat back on his haunches, shaking his head and pointing at himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to laugh at that. “You’re not useless. Lord. You’re one of the handiest people I think I’ve ever met. You can fix anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged and looked into the fire, then pointed upstairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’ll go wash. You all right, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A nod was all she needed, and Rey shuffled to the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was so chilled that she didn’t even bother bringing her clothes in: she undressed in the bedroom and darted into the bathroom, shutting the door tight, shivering as she waited for the water to heat, and finally crawling into the hot bath with a moan so loud she was sure Ben would hear it from all the way downstairs. </span>
  <span>Sooner or later, though, the laws of entropy stated that she’d have to get out of the tub, so after Rey had washed herself thoroughly and scrubbed her hair and soaked for what felt like an hour, she got out, toweled dry, tucked it under her arms, and made to open the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hell with it,” she gritted out through her teeth, jiggling the handle. No: she’d closed it too tightly, and of course the weather was awful and had stuck the door fast. Had Ben left already? He was so quiet, she would have never known if he was leaving the house. Rey kicked the door. It did not move. “Ben?” she yelled, tugging on the handle with all her might. “Ben, I need help, the door’s stuck!” No answer. “Ben!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I suppose I could climb out the window, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought despairingly, looking at the tiny panes over the tub. No, she couldn’t, either: the window was far too small. She geared up for one more mighty yank, braced her bare feet on the tile, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>heaved…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...and the door flew open with no resistance, knocking her backward to her ass on the cold floor, her towel flying off. Ben stood there in the doorway, eyes wide, one big hand on the outside knob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey choked and grappled for the towel as he took her naked body in, turned completely crimson, and whirled on his heel to face away from her, shoulders tight and fists clenched. “Oh, Christ, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, covering herself. “The bloody door was stuck, I didn’t know you were coming up. I’m decent enough now, you can, you can turn round.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave her a glance over his shoulder, his cheeks still blotchy, and turned around once satisfied with her appearance. The expression on his face turned from embarrassment to concern, however, when he noticed something on her shoulder, and as she scuttled up to the door he caught her by the arm gently and prodded it with his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What—” Rey looked down. “Oh. No, that’s not new. It’s—” She swallowed, sighing. “I fell off a fence here when I was young and got cut on a barbed-wire fence. It healed like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben tilted his head and examined it, then walked to her other side, where he tapped a reddening mark on her other elbow with a finger. She had to twist a bit to look down, but shook her head. “I must have hit my elbow when I fell. I bruise easily. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let her go slowly. She became aware he was very, very close, and that beneath the towel she was very naked. “Erm,” she managed, pulling damp hair out of her eyes. “I’m hungry. I... tea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was inches from her face: </span>
  <em>
    <span>inches,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was looking at her mouth as if he had anything but eating on his mind, and his lips were parted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s going to kiss me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought wildly, and the thought was not unappealing at all, not at the moment, in this steam-thick room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he turned away, and Rey was left standing there, alone, as the door to the stairs gently shut behind her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. rush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She came down in her clean, dry clothes, and Ben was making toasted cheese sandwiches and heating up potato soup out of a can on the hob as she entered the kitchen. Rey slipped around him and put the kettle on again, getting the tea ready silently as he worked, watching her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Humiliation had soured the whole afternoon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>First we help a cow give birth, then I find out he’s an actual mute, then he sees me naked. Wonderful day. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She watched the water steam in the electric kettle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And Granddad was lying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A chill ran up her arms, and she shivered, rubbing them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. That can’t be, it’s not… true…</span>
  </em>
  <span> But it was true: Ben had been telling the truth all along, and her grandfather had lied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of a throat clearing brought Rey back to the present, and she looked up to see Ben, who was setting the table for lunch, giving her a sideways look. Oh. Right. Lunch. She made the tea and set both mugs on the table, slipping into her seat and picking up the toasted cheese, taking a big bite. The crispy bread, melted cheese, and warm butter sank into her soul like an anchor. “I think,” she announced, chewing and swallowing, “Hux is a grade-A twat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s mouth flickered up in a half-smile as he ate. “I mean, honestly,” she said, encouraged by his expression, “who says something like that? Especially— I mean, lord, as if you’re stupid or something and can’t hear him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flashed up to meet hers, and he nodded emphatically, chewing his own food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if I’d ever call him up,” she grumbled, sipping her soup. “Oh, this is good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A drum of fingers on the table caught her attention, and Ben— Ben was looking at her with surprise, even some shock. “Oh, you didn’t hear that part of the— no, it’s no matter. He just, he was being overly friendly. Asking me to ring him up and did I ever want him for company. The nerve. Mind you, I’m not classist at all, grew up in the East End, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> an arse—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben jerked to his feet, which rattled the table and made Rey jump. A stormcloud darker than the ones outside gathering over his face, and, to her shock, he lunged directly towards the door. “Oi!” she cried, scrambling for him and catching him by the sleeve. “No, no, wait, no, it’s fine, I said! Good God! You’re not going </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sit down!” A deep, furious sound erupted from Ben’s throat, and he slammed his hand into the solid oak of the doorjamb, rattling the glass in the window. Rey was not deterred: she’d seen men strike worse things. “I said sit down. Please.” He did not look at her: just kept staring out the window with venom in his glare, as if he was trying to hex the man from a distance. “Ben,” she tried, softer, and he finally turned to look down at her, chest heaving. “There we are. Come on. Sit and eat your food. God’s sake. If I’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> angry about it I’d have punched him in the nose. I was more upset that he was nasty to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Ben turned back toward the table and lowered himself into his chair, eating his food, but Rey couldn’t ignore the way his hands were trembling, or the quick little glances he was shooting her way. “You, you play the piano, don’t you?” she asked, for lack of anything else to talk about. “It’s not a record, or the radio. It’s you. I hear you every night, every night this week you’ve played. It’s beautiful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben moved his hands from the plate and into his lap, head bent. Rey swallowed her soup. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut: she couldn’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> right, could she? “I just, I, I can’t think of anything to talk about that isn’t— I don’t know. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed deeply and looked back up, nodding </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a tired expression on his face as he spooned more soup into his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you play beautifully,” she said, picking her own spoon up again and eating. The rain pattered on the windows, trickling rain blurring the outside world from view. They might be the only two people in the world, isolated in this cottage, where the fire was crackling in the stove and the smell of hot food permeated everything. “If only we all could make our art flow so expressively and on demand.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth quirked up, and he looked toward the sitting room. Rey remembered with a jolt that she’d left her notebook in there, before they’d rushed out to help the cow, and went pink. “Oh, Lord. Right. You— I expect you read it while I was in the bath.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben raised his hand, fingers spread and flat, palm facing down, and wiggled it from side to side in a “so-so” gesture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She half-smiled, blushing. “You scanned it, then. I know it had it open to a page when I left. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> judge my talent on that, if you please: I am published and I’m very good— or so I’m told.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He considered that for a moment and walked to the drawer, pulling out a piece of paper and writing on it, then turning it around so she could read it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody’s full talent is ever measured by the things they do on days where they’re struggling. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt warm. “That’s very insightful of you.” Ben scribbled some more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not too hard to be introspective when you don’t have a choice but to listen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gulped her tea. So maybe he did want to explain… all that. “I expect you could still refuse to listen, though. Takes some strength of character to make the effort to hear other people, even if you… don’t speak. Can’t speak?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben flushed, the tip of his nose turning pink, and tapped the pencil lightly before writing again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t. Can’t. Either. Doesn’t matter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did…” She didn’t want to pry, not at all, but she was curious. “Feel free to tell me to bugger off. But… I can’t imagine it was easy as a child.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scribble, scritch, scratch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, the issue when I was a child was getting me to stop talking. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was fascinating. He hadn’t been mute as a child? “Really! Well, you and I have that in common, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled, his cheeks creasing into a pleasant landscape of furrows and hills. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. Your grandfather said you were a little hellion. Lots of running, mud, playing, shouting. Enough racket for three children.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had never considered Granddad talking about her to anyone else. She wasn’t sure she liked the feeling. “He thought I was a nuisance,” she confessed, looking down. “We lived here until I was seven or eight, I think, and then we had to go, but I can’t remember why. And he… he didn’t like my father very much, either.” She picked up her tea and sipped it. “To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m going to do with this property. I don’t know a thing about farms or estates.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben considered that and wrote down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I started working for your grandfather about 9 y. ago. I don’t think there was ever a good reason he evicted you and your father, if that helps. He spoke often about his disappointment that Bill didn’t go to uni &amp; that your mother had died so young. I think he envisioned a big 3rd generation, &amp; that never happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey read the words. They began to get a bit blurry, and she wiped her eyes. “As if Mum could have helped dying,” she said angrily. “And I— I don’t even know what to think of him. He scared me to death and I wanted to impress him so badly all my life and, and he always helped us when we really needed it, but… sometimes I wonder, you know, if I had never got published the first time, would he have even left me anything?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man across from her looked back down at the paper, then back up at her, and the question in his eyes told her all she needed to know. “Oh, God,” she said, covering her face. “You probably helped him with revising the will, didn’t you?” Ben slowly nodded, and began to write again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I also went to town and got a copy of your first book. I read it six times. And when the second one came out two years back, I read that one too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t bother stopping the tears that streamed down her face. “You read m-my books,” she managed, sniffling. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should I not have?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s just— I feel like you  might know more about me, then, than I do about you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I doubt that. You can’t give all of yourself away in only a hundred pages.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose you’re right,” she said, trying to eat her sandwich without choking. He got another sheet of paper and started writing again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I liked the one where you talked about your father’s ghost in the halls. I wish I could have heard someone read it aloud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, then,” said Rey sniffing again and blowing her nose, “I’ll have to give a recitation for you, won’t I? Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cozy lounge was crackling with firelight, the chintz curtains and pillows illuminated by the cast-iron stove in the old fireplace, and Rey took her stance to the left of it, unconsciously raising her chin and clasping her hands in front of her as if she was reading to a crowd, while Ben, who looked far too big for the space, sat on the sofa with his broad knees together, hands in his lap, waiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath, and the words she’d written came back like a stream into its old bed after heavy rains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come, he said to me, come and see where I live,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>here in the darkest corner of your bedroom. <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I could smell the smoke, the grave-dirt, clinging and damp.<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>think of me, he said, from a shroud of Sterling wrappers and ash. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>think of me as I was, and not as I am.<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>think of me as alive, and not as dead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>why do the voices of the dead speak only in our dreams?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wanted to say something, anything </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>about forgiveness, and the old coat he left me hanging in the closet,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>cigarette-stained, reeking of death.<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>they said the cause was cancer, but<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I knew the things that killed him were hatred, and desperation, and grief.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>the dirt fell from my fingers to land on English oak, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>polished and serene as the sky.<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>o, mother, on my face, it is as it is in heaven<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>and you are both together again at last.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>when they ask you of the dead, tell them<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>think of the ghosts in their socks, <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>slipping silently through hearts’ walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she had finished, she wiped her eyes and looked at Ben, who, to her amazement, had tears in his eyes, streaming in shining tracks down his cheeks. He fumbled for his handkerchief, but didn’t have one, so he resorted to wiping his eyes on his sleeve. After a moment, his lips parted, as if he was about to speak, or trying to, and Rey politely looked away, not wanting to pressure him. </span>
  <span>He struggled for a moment, his breath coming in short little gasps, and then he stood, going to the kitchen, coming back with his paper, and holding the pencil just above it, as if he couldn’t think of what to say at all. Finally, he wrote down something and turned it to face her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey blushed deeply, rubbing her nose. “Thanks,” she said. “I just want to get… more away from the maudlin for the third one. You know. Something light. Happy. But I— I don’t know if this is the right place to do it. To be happy.” She looked out the window into the pouring rain. “There’s memories here, sure, but not… not all happy. And it’s… messy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben wrote down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>life is messy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That it is,” she agreed, fidgeting. “Look, Ben… you don’t have to try to talk to me if you don’t want to, or can’t. Really. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and looked away for a moment, then wrote, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can when I’m alone. And I want to. I just. can’t to most people. situations. I choke up, can’t make myself do it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” Rey assured him. “Don’t force it. I swear I don’t mind.” She cracked a smile. “In fact, some women might say the ideal man is one who doesn’t talk.” Ben smiled and looked toward the window, rubbing his chin slightly. A scruffy, patchy mess of stubble was growing on his face, and Rey reflected that he must have shaved for her arrival, but not since. He gave her a sidelong, questioning glance. Both of his hands dropped, resting on his knees, then meeting in the middle and twisting around each other. The question hung in the air silently: </span>
  <em>
    <span>and are you one of them?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey coughed. “You ought to stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back out in that and catching pneumonia, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll let up any time soon.” She shoved her other thoughts to the back of her brain. Ben was… good: quiet and kind and hard-working, even if he did seem to struggle with his emotions and couldn’t speak. He didn’t need to deal with her barging into his life and uprooting everything. “You— I’m not sure if you’ll fit on the daybed upstairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes crinkled in a soft smile, and he shook his head, writing down on the paper again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can fit in all kinds of places, don’t worry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey turned red at the double meaning, and he checked what he’d written again, then went an astonishing shade of crimson and scribbled it out, rewriting: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be fine on the daybed</span>
  </em>
  <span> before crumpling up the paper and throwing it to the floor, so red and blotchy he could have been a pizza. Jerking up out of the sofa, he hurried for the stairs, and Rey pressed her mouth into a line, watching him go, torn between hysterical laughter and sympathy for his plight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, it was late, and she was tired. Rey watched the fire die, then headed up to bed after setting her dirty dishes in the sink. The bedroom was warm, and she almost cracked the window out of habit before remembering there would be no piano music tonight, and that pounding rain would certainly leak into the room anyway. She got changed into her pajamas, and crawled into the bed, which suddenly felt far too large and cold, though it had never felt like that before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had never had a real, serious partner. Sure, there had been little liaisons and people she fancied and stolen kisses and some groping and the one single time she’d had sex, in uni, with a dweeby guy in her English class, but not… anyone serious, not ever, and she’d certainly never slept in a bed with anyone else. After all, she was only twenty-four, and there surely would be time to settle down with someone, somewhere further down the road. And she had money now: she didn’t need anyone for that, either, which was nice. Rey knew some girls in uni who had gotten married young to boys from upper-class families, and that wasn’t a path she could ever see herself taking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Far too low maintenance to go to the Ascot,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, and entertained the idea of attending just to shock everyone on the social ladder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Showing my shoulders and all, no stockings, wearing my chav best, fistfighting Prince Andrew for being a paedophile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories of her teenage years streamed back, and Rey muffled a giggle, clapping her hand over her eyes in embarrassment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did I ever think that orange foundation was a good idea?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Big, blocked-out eyebrows, huge cheap earrings, puffer jacket, powder caked under her eyes, track pants. She’d wanted to be seen as trendy at school, and it… hadn’t been Manchester Grammar, that was for sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least I eked my way out through uni. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sure, UCL was no Cambridge or Oxford, but she couldn’t afford to move and leave Dad alone. And she’d gotten good marks, too, despite the sidelong looks from her wealthier classmates. Once she’d gotten published, the looks stopped, and they started being far friendlier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Suck-ups,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought vindictively, rolling over. She’d done her best to blend in, changing the way she spoke, trying to sound more proper when she spoke to her professors, her classmates—especially over the phone during the rare calls to Granddad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now she likely had more money than any of them. The thought was astounding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why can’t I sleep?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She rolled back over, stretching out and trying to get comfortable, but without the familiar music lulling her to sleep, it was impossible. The rain was still pattering down madly, but it was no substitute at all, and the only thing Rey could think about was the man sleeping in her old playroom. Likely, he was uncomfortably cramped in that daybed. Was he sleeping, or awake, like her, thinking?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey slipped out of bed, heart pounding. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll just check,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, stepping toward the bathroom door. She knew the other door opened to the playroom (a Jack and Jill bathroom, that was what they were called) and she could be silent when she needed to be. The door creaked a little, and she slipped into the bathroom, stepping across the dark floor until she reached the opposite one, which she pulled open softly, peering into the playroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Movement caught her eye in the dark. Before she could draw back, the click of the light switch alerted her to the fact that Ben was very much awake, and then soft, dim yellow light flooded the room in a weak circle from the lamp by the daybed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was wearing his T-shirt, and the knobbly old quilt was bunched up around his waist as he raised himself up on his free elbow, blinking at her. She immediately saw that she’d been right, and that the bed was far too small for his frame: he was curled up awkwardly with his knees almost to his chest, and one pale, big foot was sticking out of the quilt through the white-painted iron of the daybed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she whispered, stricken by her boldness, and gestured at his body. “I— I can’t sleep, and I think you really ought to take the bigger bed. I’ll sleep in here, if that’s all right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His forehead wrinkled in a confused little frown, and he sat up. Rey saw that bruises were starting to form, patches of red swelling up on his forearms where he’d had his arms jammed into the cow and gripped like a vise with every contraction. “Oh, your arms,” she said, startled. “No wonder you can’t sleep either. D’you want ice?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben flexed his hands and winced, his eyes twitching, then nodded hesitantly. “I’ll be back in a moment, then,” she whispered, and hurried down the other rickety flight of stairs, the one that led down into the sitting room and not the kitchen. Light rushed out over the floor as she opened the freezer, pulling out a frozen bag of peas: it wasn’t ice, but it would do. She hurried back up and bent down in front of him where he sat, placing the bag on his right arm, which looked worse than the other. A soft hitching sound escaped Ben’s throat as the cold bag touched him, but it died in a sigh, and he held the bag steady, then moved it to his other arm after about ten seconds. “Better?” Rey asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded emphatically, and glanced up at her, then indicated the door to the bathroom with a little gesture and a quirked eyebrow she knew meant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do you still want me to sleep in the bed?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Yes, ‘course: you go on and sleep,” she told him, rubbing her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben slipped out of bed, and she had to tear her eyes away from him, because he was wearing only the T-shirt and those Y-fronts boxer briefs that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, straining around those massive legs, and just barely containing a heavy, soft bulge positioned directly where his thighs met his body. Rey thanked everything in the universe silently that the lighting concealed her flushed face. “Night,” she squeaked, and Ben nodded at her, then lumbered through the bathroom to the master room, half-closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sat on the daybed, turned out the light, then crawled under the covers, which were still warm and smelt overwhelmingly of clean, washed man. She clutched the blankets close and drew them over her head, inhaling his smell. Soap, and faint notes of leather, hay, and oak, as if the house and the stables and the pastures had all engrained themselves into his skin. Rey breathed his scent in again and closed her eyes, calling up the mental image of Ben: broad-bodied, silent, gentle, understanding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With a cock the size of a bloody aubergine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>her brain helpfully supplied, and Rey rolled over, hot to her hairline and trying desperately not to think about that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ! He’s your employee, practically, and even you know you can’t fancy your employees! It breaks laws or something, doesn’t it?</span>
  </em>
  <span> But… technically, he worked for Granddad, hadn’t he? She didn’t personally pay his wages. Or did she? She didn’t really know: maybe Granddad had set a trust up or something for him to be paid out of. Rey groaned and stuffed her face into the pillow, breathing deep. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t get technical about it. Fuck’s sake. Just rub one out and go to bloody sleep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rolled to her belly, flushed as she worked her hands between her pelvis and the mattress. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll have to be quiet, the door’s open, he might hear. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She bit her lip and shut her eyes, imagining a scenario where Ben kissed her with those lips she knew were as soft as silk, kissed her and worked his hands down between her legs: her hands, moving frantically, were his big ones, and he was pinning her down with his strong body, heavy and solid and quiet as a stone, his mouth on her neck, her shoulder, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey came in a warm, soft rush, mouth open soundlessly as it ebbed and flowed and receded like the river, leaving her warm and tired and sleepy. She rolled to her side, panting, and as her eyes were closing, sleep finally coming, she thought she heard something… but it was late, and the cottage was likely groaning and creaking in the rain, and she was snuggled tight and warm, where nothing could hurt her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. kennet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ben’s arms darkened over the next few days, the bruises deepening to purples and blues. He never complained to Rey about it, but she caught him when he thought she wasn’t looking, his face drawn and tight as he went about his daily work. She wanted to help, but he waved her off with a frown every time she tried to assist with anything, and gave up after a day or two, staying in the cottage and writing, and only seeing him at mealtimes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, boy, did she </span>
  <em>
    <span>write:</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d found her muse at last, it seemed, and she churned out poem after poem on dizzying highs and lows, awash in the rosy glow of inspiration. She stayed in the garden, watching Ben weed, or the greenhouse when it was sunny, baking in the warmth, and when it rained, she sat in the cottage and wrote. </span>
  <span>It was only after a few days, as she re-read and edited and chewed on her pencil, that she realized all of the poems were about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben, </span>
  </em>
  <span>specifically Ben, not some abstract concept like happy memories, or even love: he was intertwined in every line, even where she thought she had been thinking about her childhood, or the gardens, or the river. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>remind me again of the way we ran in from the rain,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>soaked, clothes clinging from shoulder to knee like <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>second skins, shed like snakes in the bathroom,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>wet and cold on the yellowing tile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>tell me the story. how I dressed you in dry, warm clothes<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>and listened to your heart beat again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And on another page:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>the moonlight throws its pale, broad beams across the meadow<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>like a pair of arms, to whisper,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>“you are safe, safe and home again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wouldn’t do at all. Rey sighed and leaned her head back against the back of the wrought-iron bench in the garden. It was a gloriously sunny day, and Ben’s broad back was just visible about fifty feet away, hunched over the turnips as he studiously weeded the vegetables. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t publish a book of love poems to a man who’s apparently entirely unconcerned with romance, and with me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’d heard the piano being played on some nice evenings, but definitely not every evening, and the music had taken a turn into sonorous and stern, instead of gentle and lulling. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he was actively avoiding her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She huffed a little and stood, stretching. Well, she’d take a walk to clear her head, and consider rewriting a good chunk of her poems. “I’m going walking down to the river,” she called, and Ben lifted a hand in acknowledgement from the turnips, but did not look up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, well. It was a perfect day for a walk, and she had on sturdy shoes. Rey took the path down the road and walked along, notebook tucked under her arm, and thought. She could probably get away with the moon poem, and the one about the daybed being like a castle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Scratch the ghost poem about my mum, though. We don’t need any more of that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She reached out and let her hands brush the hedges on her way down to the pond, her boots crunching in the sun-baked dirt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a glorious English summer, and I’ve got another three months out here if I so please. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pool, when she reached it, was rippling with activity: the ducks were swimming about, quacking at her, wondering if she’d brought anything to feed them. When she produced no crusts or peas, the ducks turned away and began to bob for water-weed, their tapered, feathery backsides pointing up into the air, their necks shaking off water as they resurfaced. Rey sat on the bank and tucked her knees up, sighing as she listened to the wind in the long grasses. </span>
  <span>She leaned back, thinking of nothing much at all. Birdsong filled the air, and she distantly considered trying her hand at making a fruit pie of some kind once she got back to the cottage. Any kind would be lovely. Or maybe berries, with fresh cream from the cows. She'd never had such good food in her life before, or so much of it to hand. Maybe farm life was good after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It must have been a long time that she sat there, half-dozing in the grass, but a sound jerked her back to reality: a strange sound, like a deep, angry snort. Rey turned, screening her eyes with her hands, and saw a cow, front legs spread, one hoof pawing at the road, and both black eyes were looking right at her as it lifted its head, scenting her, nostrils flaring wide.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait, no. She furrowed her brow in confusion. That wasn’t a cow, it had great big wicked horns, and was far bigger, with something that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not an udder swinging between its back legs—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bull let out a terrific snort, shook its head, and darted for her, making Rey leap to her feet before it came up short, flicking its tail. Her heart was pounding in her throat. The animal had clearly gotten out of the pasture it was supposed to be in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought wildly, backing up. Her boots squelched in the mud of the pond’s sodden bank, trampling on wet roots. “Shit,” she gasped. Did you back down from a charging bull, or run back at it? “Go, go away!” she shouted, waving her arms. The bull jerked back a step, but its ears flickered forward, interested. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck, I’ve made him angrier. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Oi, I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she shouted, channeling all her terror into her voice. “Get the fuck away from me—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bull pawed at the ground again and ran in a tight circle, and Rey had nowhere to go: no tree to climb, nothing. She was trapped between the bull and the lake. “Fuck off, you great big fucker!” she shrieked, and picked up a piece of old, waterlogged wood, flinging it with all her strength at the animal. It bounced off its flank like nothing. The bull turned back on her, gearing up for a final run, and all Rey could see was those horns: a foot long, sharp as the devil, and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey!” screamed a hoarse, male voice from somewhere far off, drenched in terror. “Rey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>run! The river! Run!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t even consider disobeying. She turned and ran, splashing, as fast as she could into the pool, which was a lot deeper than she’d expected a few feet in, and choked as she went down under, the green water closing over her head. She was not the strongest swimmer, and paddled as fast as she could as far from the shore as she could. The bull charged, but only got a few feet into the water before deciding she wasn’t worth wet hooves, and turning round, only to be faced down by someone on the bank wielding a shovel, a spanner, and nothing else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She choked on the river and blinked, gasping as she tried to tread water. There was a current, here and it was hard to stay up, but that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ben roaring at the bull and smashing his spanner on the tin shovel, making the bull dart away, snort, jerk to the right. He headed it up to the road again, and turned, looking out into the lake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey couldn’t get to the shore. Her shoes were full of water, and she was trying to swim, but her soaked clothes were weighing her down, and she was too far out: the current was threatening to drag her out to the deep, strong Kennet, swollen from the rains. “Help!” she yelled, splashing. “Ben, I can’t get back!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He started running, dropping everything in his hands, and yanked his boots and coat off at the shore before he dived in, arms arcing through the water in clean, even strokes. Rey shrieked— something had tangled in her boot, something was holding her fast in one spot as the current eddied round her, pulling her sideways and pulling her head below the surface. She gurgled as her mouth filled with water, and choked, waving her arms wildly as she tried to keep her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Christ, I’m going to drown. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her eyes closed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it won’t be so bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something stronger than the river </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulled,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Rey’s head bobbed back to the surface, held up by one arm. She coughed up water, gagging, and tried to suck in a breath, but just got another wave to the face, inhaling it. Her chest convulsed, and she choked, spitting out water. Her throat and chest burned as if fire was coursing through her lungs instead of air. “Fuck,” she wheezed, clinging to the arm as she was dragged to shore, hauled up unceremoniously, and throw on her side, a huge hand thumping into her back, broad and heavy. More water came up, and she struggled to not vomit as she tried to pull air in, then rolled to all fours, trembling, and coughed up what felt like half the Kennet, but was really only a mouthful of warm water, spilled on the grassy bank. Rey coughed again, racking, and something warm settled over her body, which she clung to with one shaking hand as she tried to remember how to breathe and turned her head to look at her rescuer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben knelt by her, his lake-drenched hair hanging into a pair of eyes that took in everything from her face to her body to her feet. She realized one of her boots was gone, and thought: </span>
  <em>
    <span>small price to pay for my life, I guess. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thing over her shoulders was his Carhartt jacket. “Ben,” she managed to croak, and burst into tears, her breaths coming in ragged sobs. “Oh, God, Ben.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He checked her face, laying a shaking hand along her cheek, and she lunged for him, embracing his soaked body. Her arms didn’t quite reach around his shoulders, but he returned the hug firmly, his fingers trembling, splayed out against her back as he cradled her on one arm. She felt his thumb, rubbing in small, delicate circles against the nape of her neck, and cried harder. Her throat was raw, and she couldn’t force out any words past wretched crying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A low vibration thrummed through her torso, a soft, low sound in her ear like dragonfly wings. She caught her breath and realized he was humming to her, humming Beethoven. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Moonlight Sonata. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey clung to him, coughing a little more water up, and listened to him until her breathing had evened out and slowed and she’d stopped coughing. Ben’s body was warm, and she shivered into his embrace. “I heard you,” she rasped, pulling back to look at him. Her vocal cords felt raw. “You said. My name. To run. River.” He shook his head and put two broad fingers on her mouth, then her throat. She understood the meaning: </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t speak, your throat’s raw, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she couldn’t stop herself. “You said my name,” she forced out, coughing with the effort. Her eyes watered. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>name</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben only nodded, eyes averted, water dripping down his face, and Rey reached up, cupping his cheek, her fingers on the scar that bisected the right side of his face, her thumb pressed to the beauty mark near his nose. “I don’t care,” she managed, trying to sound steady as his eyes met hers, “if you never say it again, or anything else. You, you, I almost drowned, and I, I, I should, should—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes slid back, slow and warm as syrup, and his hands drifted up to her cheeks, so big that they could almost hold her whole face. Tentative, cautious: his eyes darted to her mouth, then back to her face, and Rey couldn’t stand it anymore. Her head was aching, her throat hurt, and her whole body felt raw and wobbly, but she pulled his face close and pressed her lips to his in a wet, warm kiss that tasted of the river. Ben’s hands shook almost violently, but his mouth moved freely over hers, timid at first, and then with a surge of emotion so strong that his teeth nipped clumsily at her lower lip, his nose mashed against her cheek. Rey shuddered and gripped him tight, wedging herself closer, her body gone warm despite the wind blowing cold on the wet hair stuck to her cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, his mouth fell away, and he was looking at her with a shocked expression, as if he couldn’t believe she’d just done that. “It’s okay,” she rasped, coughing. “Sorry. It’s. It’s just.” Reality came flooding in, and she shivered, the warmth gone: this man was her grandfather’s employee, and there had to be some kind of line she was crossing by </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if she pretended it was just gratitude for saving her from drowning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But God, how she wanted it again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stood, heaving his body up, and helped her to her feet. Her wet sock sank into the muddy grass, and he walked her over to the road, shoving his own soaked feet back into his boots and handing her the notebook she’d dropped when she ran into the river. How small a thing it seemed, now, in light of the fact she’d almost died. She stumbled on the gravel, and he got his arm under her, supporting her up as she leaned on him, knees trembling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Coughing, Rey clung to him all the way back, and when they’d reached the open courtyard, he didn’t take her to the cottage, but to the stable, where he found a clean horse blanket in the tack room, unbuttoned her shirt with nimble, sure fingers, and studiously stripped off all her wet clothes, wrapping her in the blanket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey didn’t speak. It hurt too much. Ben seemed to understand, because he guided her up to the loft room— </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> room, she amended to herself, hobbling up the steps, and sat her on the bed while he pulled an old electric kettle and a hot plate from a cupboard and started tea. She huddled under the blanket, coughing and shivering. Ben shot her sideways looks and stirred a healthy amount of honey into her tea before handing her the cup. It felt blissfully warm to her fingers. She gulped it, and sighed as the honey coated her throat. “Thanks,” she croaked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded and looked her over again before crossing back and making himself tea. Rey watched the wet shirt cling to his arms, and lowered her gaze: if he wanted to kiss her again, surely he would have done it by now, wouldn’t he? His hem rode up as he raised his arms to get a cup, and she couldn’t help but stare at the strip of exposed belly there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Christ, I’ve got it bad. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any inner turmoil Ben might have been experiencing was masked by his perfectly still, solemn face as he crossed over to the bed, sat down beside her, and sipped at his tea. Even soaked, heat still radiated from his body like a fire, and Rey fought the urge to snuggle close. “If you don’t want to talk about, ah, what, what we did by the lake,” she forced out in a gravelly voice that didn’t sound like her at all, “then we don’t have to talk about it again.” He turned to look at her, brows drawn together in confusion and lips parted. “You know,” she prompted, already embarrassed: had he forgotten already? “The, I, I kissed you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both cheeks turned pink, and Ben shoved his cup between his lips, gulping at the steaming tea as his eyes darted away. “Oh,” Rey groaned, covering her eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“no,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t mean to embarrass you again. I just, I, I’m so sorry. I, you clearly don’t, aren’t, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>reciprocated, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean I know you’ve been keeping a distance since last week and I expect you only kissed me back because of the adrenaline, I nearly drowned and all. I really am shit at this. Forget I said anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pair of dark eyes met hers through a tangle of wet, black hair, and Ben shook his head lightly, gaze fixed to hers. Rey swallowed, a dreadful sensation of fluttering building in her belly. “N… no? No, you didn’t… what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s throat swelled and bobbed as he swallowed a few times, and she watched as a pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. They worked for a moment, and he opened his mouth, seemingly working himself up. Rey glanced down at her hands, not wanting to make him feel as if she was staring at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It... </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>... the adrenaline.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She jerked her head back up, astonished. Ben’s cheeks were red with either effort, humiliation, or success: maybe all three. “It wasn’t?” she asked. His voice… a baritone, low, and gentle: a strange inflection, as if he was out of practice— but of course he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he whispered, hands shaking, and looked away, chest heaving with the effort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you… do you want to do it again?” she asked, setting her empty cup to the floor. “Because, because I know I, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked it and I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes found her again in a blaze, and before she knew what was happening she was being cradled in a pair of enormous arms, swathed in a horse-blanket, and Ben’s mouth was kissing her, his hand cupping the back of her wet head. It was no artfully romantic kiss, either: it was something half-violent, desperate, like she might disappear if he stopped, and Rey groaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped along her bottom lip, his teeth almost pressing into the side of her nose. “Ben,” she gasped, pulling away. “Bit rough, there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes were shut. Tears leaked from beneath the lids, tangling in his dark lashes, streaking down his cheeks. She curled closer, awkward in her blanket, and pressed her forehead to his, stroking wet hair out of his face. “It’s all right. I’m staying,” she assured him. “Right here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A low sound escaped his throat, and he reached for her, his hands slipping into the folds of blanket cautiously, eyes traveling between her face and her throat, as if making sure she was all right with it. Rey didn’t move, just let him uncover her bare, clammy skin, and his warm fingers trailed from her jaw to her neck to the strap of her bra, where it rested, trembling, for a moment before exploring the curve of her shoulder. “Have you ever… ah… been with someone like this?” she asked, unable to keep the shivering out of her voice. He must have thought she was cold, because he quickly pulled the blanket back over her exposed skin and rubbed her gently over the wool, then shook his head in a tight little gesture. “Oh. Do you, do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be? With, with me?” The last bit came out in a squeak, and she coughed again, covering her mouth as Ben lifted his head, looked her dead in the eyes, and nodded very firmly, cheeks cherry-red. “Okay. I, I’m not a virgin, if that’s, if you don’t—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A half-smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head. “Good,” he whispered, and Rey suddenly felt far, far too warm in that woolen blanket that smelled of hay and horse. She let one corner drop, exposing her bland white bra, and Ben’s eyes went straight to it, his lips parting. Rey looked down and flushed deeply. The water had soaked through, and of course the bra was half-transparent, her cold right nipple poking through the thin cotton like an eraser on a pencil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me your hand,” she said hoarsely, and he did, letting her take his palm and guide it to cup her right breast. Ben’s breath paused, tangled in his throat, and he froze, his big palm covering her almost entirely as his fingers reflexively tightened, then released. He shifted his seat and let out a little breath, then moved his thumb to brush across her nipple, testing the feel of it. “Never, um, touched one before?” she asked, trying to sound sure of herself for his sake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head shyly and repeated the motion, his breath coming in hot gusts as he tentatively pulled the other side of the blanket open and palmed her other breast, eyes fluttering shut. Rey swallowed. His hands were so warm that she hardly needed the blanket at all. “You can,” she squeaked, gulping. “You can, ah, I can take it off. It’s wet anyway. Needs to hang dry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded solemnly, as if the state of her laundry was of utmost importance, and she shrugged the blanket down, took the bra off carefully, and pulled it away from her torso. An audible sound escaped his throat, a sound like longing or maybe shock. He stared at her chest with the same reverence she’d used to show in church, then dared a look up at her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, go on and touch them,” she whispered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as he reached for her, cupping her little breasts. She’d always felt self-conscious about them, with one a little larger than the other and their pale areolas, but Ben was… the way he was looking at them, touching them, made her feel like they were worthy of a front-page magazine spread. His broad thumbs drifted across both nipples, and he slid off the bed with a thump and squish of wet clothing to get a closer look, his warm breath drifting across her body. His hands moved across the four freckles that dotted her chest in a straight line from her right shoulder to her left nipple, tracing them like an ancient astronomer would a constellation, then down, grazing her sides, her belly, exploring the topography of her ribcage with a scientist’s care, and he pulled the blanket open, running his hands up her thighs, tracing her cotton briefs… which were also still soaked, and almost transparent, clinging tight to everything between her legs. Rey went as hot as a stove, realizing he could see </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything:</span>
  </em>
  <span> every fold and bump, the dark thatch of pubic hair she kept neatly trimmed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben didn’t seem to care, only sighing softly, then carefully hooking his fingers into her underpants, looking up at her with an unspoken question in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask,” she whispered, not knowing what the hell had come over her, and instantly feeling guilty for even demanding he—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shifted, lips parted, cheeks stained red. “P-please,” he whispered hoarsely, and she nodded without hesitation as he tugged her wet underwear off her body, setting it aside with her wet bra, and… just looked at her for so long that she began to feel awkward and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders, cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already seen me naked,” Rey reminded him softly, which made him look up at her and flush even deeper before shaking his head and standing, going to the table and letting out a soft huff of air before turning back to her, a torn expression in his dark eyes. “What?” she asked, confused by his sudden change of mood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben pulled his hand down his face and shook his head helplessly, gesturing at her, then turning away, his shoulders low and hunched as he wrapped his arms around himself. “Ben, it’s all right. Whatever it is, it’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he rasped, turning back and looking at her with a stern expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. So… this was what being rejected felt like. Rey felt it sink into her body like an arrow, and lowered her head, trying not to cry as he turned away from her. “I, I— I’m sorry, then,” she managed, wiping her eyes, which were leaking anyway. “Could you, could I borrow some clothes to wear back to the cottage?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben crossed to the dresser and pulled out a dark blue T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, coming back to the bed and laying them out beside her before turning away and walking to the stairs, descending them and leaving her alone in his room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey fought the disappointment and heartache long enough to get dressed, pull on a pair of his trainers that were far too big, and walk to the cottage alone, notebook clenched in her hand. He had disappeared into the pasture again (likely, she thought, to wrangle that bull) and she did not see him for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, the familiar strains of Beethoven’s Fifth lulled her to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning for some descriptions of violence/gore, a murder mention</p><p>HAPPY OCTOBER</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next week passed like sludging, drudging quicksand, sucking at every inch of Rey as she desperately tried to make headway on her poetry, but couldn’t bring herself to think about anything but the man who had unequivocally turned her down after seeing her naked. It was hard to not take it personally. Really hard. She spent most of her days angrily scribbling out poems she’d liked, then frantically rewriting them, afraid she’d lose the emotions behind them forever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben kept his distance. He didn’t even come into the cottage anymore, except to drop off groceries, and he did that when she wasn’t in. She was alone, and angry, and upset, and hurt, and not even the faint music playing at night from the estate house could cheer her up: she kept the windows shut and cried herself to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She considered marching into the stables and demanding Hux’s number from Ben a few times, just to see the look on his face, but each time was stopped by the knowledge that she didn’t actually want to spend any time in Hux’s company, and that hurting Ben wouldn’t make her feel any better. Instead, she wandered around the grounds, patted the horses, tried to avoid Ben as much as possible, since that seemed to be what he wanted, and emailed her agent in London with updates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weather turned fine, warm and sunny toward the end of the week, which brought her outside more often, and she tried to work toward making more poems, scribbling down her feelings, her thoughts, trying to put them together like beads on a string. Most days she just walked aimlessly, reminiscing about forgotten hiding places in the garden and the adventures she’d had as a child, and wishing with all her heart she could turn back the clock and forget everything that had happened in the past three weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saturday brought a light drizzle, so Rey spent it in the greenhouse, among the flowers Ben tended so carefully. Would she ever finish her book? She sighed and stared at the page, willing herself to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>write,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but her creative fuel had seemingly gone away when Ben had withdrawn. It wasn’t fair. Was she even capable, after all, of talent when there was no inspiration? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Movement caught her eye through wet, blurry glass; movement down at the house. A truck had pulled into the drive, and she recognized it immediately, along with the man climbing out of the cab: that was Hux’s truck, and Hux, and Ben was walking to him. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here? Rey stood, intrigued, and began to walk down to the gravel courtyard, listening as best she could to the raised voice that became ever clearer as she neared the truck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my fault the bull got loose!” Hux was shouting. “You ought to keep the bloody fences around here mended and you wouldn’t have a problem! Christ! What d’you mean by emailing this whole manifesto to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey crept closer, bewildered: the bull had also belonged to Hux? The farmer wasn’t finished, though: he drew out a piece of paper from his pocket and started reading out loud. “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the second time in a fortnight animals that should have been kept on your farm due to medical condition or temperament have been boarded here at Queensbury, and in regards to the second instance, the owner of the property was injured and almost killed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ As if that’s my fault, you great dumb stump: if she’s never been around animals she shouldn’t be fucking about on a fucking farm. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I believe with regards to this we should sit down, go over the numbers, and ensure no more aggressive animals are currently boarding at Queensbury</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Oh, aye, and are you going to give my bulls personality tests, then? I need them for breeding, and they need to eat. And you need to keep the fences mended!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s hands were hanging loosely at his sides, eyebrows raised as Hux continued to shout. “And furthermore,” he bellowed, “if you’d kept a fucking eye on your precious bally </span>
  <em>
    <span>owner,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the idiot girl wouldn’t have almost drowned in the fuckin’ lake!” Rey was close enough to see Ben’s right eye twitch. Hux wasn’t done. His face was nearly purple. “Christ! If she’s such a useless cunt, just send her back to London and be done with it! Even a great dumb stump can do that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s fists went from lax to clenched at his sides, practically vibrating, and Rey watched in horror as he lunged across the gravel, face contorted with rage, and one thick fist smashed into Hux’s jaw. “Ben!” she screamed as Hux dropped like a sack of flour, clearly unconscious before he’d even hit the ground. Ben didn’t care: he straddled the man’s body and delivered another blow to eye, jaw, cheekbone, to—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her notebook lay forgotten in the gravel as Rey grabbed him by the shirt, trying to haul him off Hux. She might as well have been trying to move a mountain. “Ben! Stop! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s not worth it, leave him be, <em>stop it!”</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A torn sound ripped from his throat, and Ben staggered up, almost knocking Rey to her backside as he stumbled away from Hux, who stirred feebly, spitting blood and wheezing. Rey gaped at Ben, who just stood there, blood smeared on his knuckles, and knelt by the red-haired farmer, checking his pulse. “Can you see me?” she asked, tugging him up. “Have you got a concussion? Do you—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave off,” groaned Hux, blood drooling down his chin. “Leave off, and don’t expect me to let my animals board here anymore. Christ. Why don’t you fuckin’ control your man, ah?” He spat a glob of blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>my man,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she said, aghast. “You have to get to hospital—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drive myself,” Hux said, staggering to his feet and getting to the cab. "Don't think I won't be back, either." The printed out email was fluttering in the breeze, half-damp with rain, and Rey picked it up as Hux shut the door behind him and started the motor, backing out of the drive and disappearing down the road.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Ben’s email, sent two days prior, and Rey scanned it, then looked up at Ben, who stood exactly where he’d been the entire time, not making eye contact. “You emailed him… for me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not respond. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ben,” she tried again, stepping closer. “Ben, please, just look at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The broad shoulders remained where they were, trembling in the soft rain. Rey could think of nothing else to do: she walked around to the front of him, opened her arms, and embraced his stone-still form, crushing her cheek to his chest and squeezing as tightly as she could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Little by little, his stiff body relaxed, and his breaths started coming in shuddering, uneven gasps as his arms slowly came up to hold her. Ben began to cry in half-strangled, ruined sobs that sounded like his soul was being ripped out through his throat. Whatever the reason had been for his initial distancing from her, it did not matter: not to her, not anymore. “It’s okay,” she whispered, rubbing his back lightly. “Come on. Let’s, let’s go in and have tea or something, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded against her head, and let her lead him into the cottage, where the lights were on and waiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tea was a couple of thick sandwiches and a slice of cake, and Ben didn’t speak or even acknowledge Rey’s existence. He ate what was set in front of him like a robot, and got up to set his plate in the sink, and sat back down on the sofa, hands covering his face as Rey washed up and came to sit by him, gently resting her hand on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Police,” he managed to force out of quivering lips, eyeing her with some wariness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think Hux will call the police over this,” said Rey. “He doesn’t seem the type to like interference, especially over something like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben pointed at her, despair in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Why would I call the police?” He looked away, shaking his head, and jabbed a thumb violently at himself, covering his head with his hands and shaking it again, a sob escaping his mouth. “What, 'cos you hit him? No, not in a million years, I wouldn’t— I say Hux got what was coming to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m bad,” he said, voice shaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are not. You’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. Why in the world would you think—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he interrupted, tears brimming in his eyes, and shook his head violently, half-rocking in his seat. “You don’t. Know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What don’t I know?” she asked, bewildered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t force words out anymore, and jerked to his feet, tears running silently down his cheeks as he went to the kitchen, came back with paper and a pencil, and wrote on it for a long time with a shaking hand before giving it to her, then retreating to the window seat, where he stared out into the rain, head bowed, hands clasped tight at his sides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey read the words on the paper, her hands growing cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve seen the scar on my face. your grandfather gave that to me with his letter opener because I was too slow to get him a hot toddy one night. the other scars came from similar instances, except the one on my shoulder, I fell off a roof and hit a gutter on the way down— I wanted to leave this place so badly for years but he told me no one else would hire a useless mute so I stayed and I was trapped here. he’d withhold my checks and demand I give him my monthly benefits and I did, I did for years because he threatened me, and maybe it was weak but I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and the night I finally lost control he was trying to beat me with an iron poker in the estate house, calling me worthless, and I hit him back for the first time in my life, just like I did to Hux. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It did the job. I killed him. And I swore I’d never hit anyone again, nobody found out what I’d done, the coroner said it looked like he’d struck his head on a desk falling and I couldn’t exactly say anything contradicting it since I can barely talk, and that was it. I stayed to maintain the place when I learned you’d be coming, and I wanted to meet you, because I couldn’t believe anyone that horrible could be related to someone as intelligent and kind and capable of writing so beautifully as you, and then you got here and I </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> you and <strike>I f</strike></span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s all. You have my written confession now. You can take it to the police.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m just glad someone else will know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey remained there, exactly where she was, as shocked tears welled in her eyes, and the first thing she thought was: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben was stuck here, he thought everyone would treat him like garbage because of Granddad, and Granddad underestimated him. Just like he did me. And Dad. Always. Cruel, cruel fucking old codger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She stood up, her breath coming in gasps. “Ben,” she whispered, and he turned, eyes full of pain, to look at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One quick step across the sitting room, one toss of her wrist, and his confession was burning cheerfully in the stove, the fire glowing bright along the edges of the cheap paper as Ben stared at her in shock. “I don’t care,” she gasped, trembling as it burned to ash. “I don’t care what you did: as far as I care he deserved it, he killed himself with his own stupid, bullheaded malicious— he was an awful, awful old man—did you tell me the truth when you said you helped him rewrite the will? Or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben looked shattered. “No,” he croaked, forcing out the words desperately as his hands flexed open and shut, over and over. “I. Lied. Rewrote it. He— he didn’t want. To leave you. Anything. I f-forged. His signature.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey felt her eyes well up. “And his solicitor didn’t, never—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said again, and tears started streaming down his cheeks in thick, wet trails. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, so—” Her mind was reeling. She gripped the mantel, trying to center herself. “You don’t have to speak, just, just nod. You, this, this all came back up because you struck Hux? Because you told yourself you’d never do it again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded, unable to look at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey really couldn’t make the tears stop. “And you, you think I’m going to call the police on you for— for </span>
  <em>
    <span>helping</span>
  </em>
  <span> me? When you didn’t even know me? Why? Why would I do that, Ben?” </span>
  <span>His lips quivered, and his face contorted into an anguished expression. Rey crossed the floor in two steps, hugging him close as he began to cry, body shaking with wracking, desperate sobs. “No, no, shh, shh,” she whispered, her heart breaking for him. She couldn’t imagine living here alone for so long, running the place all by herself with that much guilt resting on her shoulders. Three years since Granddad had died, and in all that time, he’d had nobody—been alone: just like she’d been alone. Her voice cracked as she murmured to him. “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry, I’m sorry you were by yourself out here for so long, I’m sorry: I should have, have come sooner, I didn’t know, didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben tightened his grip on her body, returning the embrace like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, and she could feel his whole body shaking with the force of his emotions as he wept into her shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assured him, even as his knees buckled and he slid to the floor, his hands gripping her damp jeans as he sobbed into her legs. For lack of anywhere else to touch him, she stroked her fingers through his thick, soft, rain-wet hair, shushing him softly until he was only breathing, hot and labored, against her thighs. “It’s all right,” Rey whispered, and he sighed deeply, but was silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he believed her. Maybe he didn’t. She didn’t know. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey tugged him up to the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the tub, wetting a cloth with cold water from the tap and wiping his face. Ben didn’t protest, just let her wash his red, swollen eyes and tearstained face, and when she had finished, she set the cloth aside and led him to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed and head down, and she sat on the carpet, her face in her hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Killed, not dead in an accident: Granddad, the ruin of the whole family, the liar, the tyrant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man responsible: an enormous, selectively mute caretaker with the softest eyes, the most tender soul, the gentlest hands— who had cared about her even when she had existed only in an abstract form to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a far-off granddaughter. Just a woman whose words he loved, even though he had hardly any to speak for himself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man whose hands she’d seen save and bring life had ended her grandfather’s in a crunch of ancient bone and blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I the only one who knows what you did?” she asked softly, raising her head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben took a deep breath and shook his head, eyes wetly shining in the lamplight. His absurdly large hands worked over the floral bedspread, smoothing back and forth, back and forth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Christ,” said Rey, exhausted. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. “Ben. Who else knows?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes found hers, misery written everywhere. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Armitage,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he mouthed, and shut his own eyes, tears trickling from beneath his closed lids. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did he find out?” Ben swallowed hard and shook his head, his mouth trembling as if he was going to cry again. “Ben, please, I have to— I can’t help if I don’t know. Did he, was he there when it happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben steeled himself and nodded, eyes still shut like he was too ashamed to look at her. Rey frowned. “In the house when it happened?” The dark head shook. “No, he was… coming there for something, maybe to talk to Granddad about the livestock arrangement?” Ben nodded. “Oh, so he got there right after the fact. But you couldn’t, I mean, you wouldn’t have said anything to him. So how did he…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, looked right at her, and raised his right fist, stroking the knuckles with the fingers of his left hand. The despair in his eyes was clear. “Oh,” said Rey, understanding immediately. “You had… blood on your hands. And he guessed it?” Ben nodded slowly, wiping his face with his shoulder. “Okay. Right, so he guessed it and I’m sure you didn’t say a word, but he— he must just suspect. I mean, you could have got blood on you from trying to help him after he fell, which, which was on the report when he died, so someone must have said something to the ambulance crews. Right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another nod, and Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself to speak again. She’d never heard him talk this much in her life. “Hux told them. Fall. I… pretended. I think he suspected. Then… blackmail. Joking. But I was… afraid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I bet you were,” said Rey, infuriated on his behalf. “Is that why he was letting that pregnant cow and the bull and, and all that— I’m sure there are more animals that shouldn’t be here, here—is that why they were here?” Ben nodded, head bent. “Right,” she said. “And I wouldn’t be shocked if he’s been skimming off and not paying his dues properly, too.” The faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of the caretaker’s mouth. “Well, that’s all stopping at once. And I don’t give a damn if he decides to call the police up here: Granddad’s been dead for three years. And I’m here.” Realization broke over here. “Why, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the owner, now, aren’t I? Who are they going to believe, him or me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben wiped his eyes. “You,” he said, ragged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Me.” Rey stood up and sat on the bed beside him, wrapping one arm around his broad, warm back as he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” she promised, rubbing his back. “Yeah?” A deep sigh left his body, and he turned his face to look at her, exhaustion clear in every line. One gentle nod was all she needed, and Rey squeezed his shoulder in reassurance before standing up. “You can sleep here if you don’t want to be alone tonight. I’ll be in the other room. I don’t mind it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kind,” he said roughly, looking away from her. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock on the front door jolted Rey from a sound sleep in the daybed, and flashing blue lights tapped out a staccato pattern on the walls of the old playroom: </span>
  <em>
    <span>police, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she realized.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hux, that bloody arsehole. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hurried out and down the stairs. It was the middle of the night, and she could see a car waiting out in the drive as she came into the kitchen in her robe and flicked on the light, illuminating Ben, who stood in his T-shirt and pants, white as a sheet and trembling. “Go upstairs,” she said firmly. “And don’t turn on any lights. I’ll handle it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her encounters with police had been mostly on the council estate, instances where someone’s wife or husband got rough, or kids were making mischief in the streets, or someone was trying to catch a thief. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Best Eton voice, come on, then,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought, and steeled herself, waiting until Ben had disappeared up the stairs before opening the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The policewoman was intimidatingly large: six foot something, cool blue eyes. “Hello, mum,” she said. “Sorry to bother you so late, but we had a rather disturbing call from a farm up the road. Is there a Mr Ben Solo on the premises?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ben? Oh, you must mean the caretaker. He usually stays in the rooms over the stables, so I’m given to believe,” said Rey carefully. “Why? Is there a warrant or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, mum,” said the policewoman, frowning. “Only, we had a call from Mr Hux, saying he had information about a death on the property, and that Mr Solo was connected with it. May I come in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A death? The only recent death on the property was my grandfather, Mr Palpatine, and that was a good three years back. Tragic accident,” Rey added, while physically blocking the woman from entering the house, and letting a note of sadness enter her voice. “He was very old. He fell and hit his head on a desk, so his solicitor told me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The policewoman frowned. “Well, Mr Hux seemed to think—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Lord,” said Rey, clapping her hand to her head. “No, I know what’s happening here, pardon me, Officer. The caretaker emailed him expressing some dissatisfaction with certain animals that had been allowing Mr Hux to board on the property, and telling him that he wasn’t going to allow them here any longer, as this has been a repeat issue. Mr Hux showed up here this afternoon threatening both him and myself, and Mr Solo acted in defense. Look.” She reached over and picked up the dried, wrinkly printout of the email, and handed it to the policewoman, who flicked on her torch and read it. “We have had problems with the animals, as you can see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” said the officer. “And this message, this was sent by your request?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Rey lied. “I was nearly killed by a charging bull, and the week previous to that he let a cow about to calve into the north pasture. She had a difficult delivery I had to personally assist with. You can imagine the trouble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see,” said the officer. “So you believe Mr Hux’s statement was intended to be revenge for the decision to disallow the animals onto the property.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Likely,” said Rey, “and what’s more, Mr Solo is mute and cannot speak to defend himself. I think Mr Hux believes he’s an easy target in this regard, and I have no intention of allowing him to bully my staff any further.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know,” the policewoman said, eyes widening. “Lord. Sorry, mum. If you drop into the town and come to the station with him, I can get a Court of Protection order done up in no time, and we’ll serve Mr Hux with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I think that would be best for all parties involved,” said Rey. “Thank you, officer. So sorry you had to come all the way out here in the rain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no matter,” she said, adjusting her cap, “it’s no worse than any other night. Good night, Ms Palpatine, and I’m very sorry for the disturbance,” and she was gone, tromping away back to the car and driving off into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shut the door, bolted it, and turned around, gasping as she slid to the floor: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve just lied to the police and got away with it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Was there nothing she could not do? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben came down the stairs, eyes wide and terrified at the sight of her, but she only waved him away. “It’s fine. She believed me, and we're going in to town tomorrow morning to get a protective order against Hux, so don’t you worry about that,” she said, closing her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both of his big hands went to his brow as he sighed deeply, then ran his hands down his face. She got up and patted him on the shoulder, then flicked the light back off. “Come on, let’s go back to sleep,” she muttered, and he nodded, following her up the stairs and settling back into the bedroom as she went to the toilet and splashed hot water on her cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Rey thought, as she paused by the door leading to the playroom, the daybed did not seem inviting at all. She cast a glance back toward the master bedroom, and thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>well, maybe…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she lifted the quilt and slid in, Ben did not move at all. She thought he might already be asleep, but as she got settled in, he edged backward, toward her, just a little, until the broad length of his warm body was almost touching her. She reached up and touched his back over the blankets, stroking gently, and he sighed, rolling back into her touch. “It’s okay,” she whispered, feeling like an idiot. “I’m here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he mumbled softly, and she closed her eyes, feeling his back expand and fall as he breathed, and breathed, and breathed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. honeysuckle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw for some slurs! we get into ben's background a bit and it's not happy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The trip into Marlborough to see the police about the order of protection was brutal. Ben, half-terrified they’d arrest him on the spot anyway, sat in the passenger seat with his white-knuckled fingers curled around the seat, and Rey drove the mint-green Mini as carefully as she could, keeping up a steady stream of cheerful chatter to try to calm him down as the bright, sunny morning streamed across the road.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The visit itself at the station was short. Ben stood in the corner of the lobby awkwardly, taking up far too much space, while Rey spoke to the chief and presented the email and all the evidence she had, and they granted her the order and told her they’d send an officer up to Hux as soon as possible. When the two of them got back to the car, Ben almost melted in the seat, hands trembling with relief that nobody had tried to arrest him, and Rey drove up to the Green Oak, figuring it wouldn’t kill them to have a hot meal before they went back. Besides, she wanted to see Maz again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it isn’t little Rey!” shouted Maz, delighted, as she shouldered into the pub, which wasn’t very full, seeing as it was not quite lunchtime. Ben shuffled in behind her, uncomfortable with even the small crowd, and Rey smiled brightly at the old lady, hugging her back. “It’s been ages! Where have you been, what have you got up to up there, ah? No, don’t tell me, I expect I know: writing and writing. Sit down, have a pasty. You too, boy. Heaven knows you need food: look at the size of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Maz,” said Rey, smiling as she hustled them to a table. “No shepherd’s pie today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah-ah, my girl, it’s in the oven now for tonight,” Maz said, adjusting her glasses. “Mercy me, boy, this is the first time you’ve ever sat down in my pub. I’ll get you a muffin. Oh, and a cold Guinness.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth in surprise, but didn’t shake his head as Maz beamed and darted away back behind the counter. Rey giggled. “Now, a tipsy you would be a sight to see,” she told him, nudging him with her foot under the table. Ben blushed. Maz came back with the beer and pasties, setting a thick muffin in front of him, and he ate it quickly, nodding at her in thanks. Rey sipped her lemon water, and Ben lifted the Guinness and drank… and drank, and drank: the whole enormous glass disappearing in four long swallows before he set it down again and wiped his mouth, sighing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good Lord,” said Rey, half-impressed. “Hope you’re not a lightweight.” He half-smiled and avoided eye contact, but accepted another drink from Maz, nursing it as they started in on the pasties. They were delicious: beef and mushrooms in a beer sauce, and Rey wiped flaky pastry from her lips, sighing. “Oh, I wish I could make these.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben eyed them up and raised his eyebrow at her, as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She smiled. “Or maybe you could make them and show me how. I’m not picky. It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A group of dusty farmers came in, stamping their boots and talking loudly as they clustered around the bar to get beers: the lunch rush was beginning, it seemed. Ben turned his face away, half-shy, and sipped his own beer. Rey felt guilty: why had she demanded he come in here when he looked so uncomfortable? Come to think of it, she only ever saw him leave the property when it was necessary, like for groceries. He must not care for being around people at all. “D’you want to go?” she asked, leaning in a little and whispering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, darting a glance at her, and awkwardly nudged her ankle beneath the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Just let me know,” Rey told him, and took another gulp of water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey-o,” said someone, laughing at the bar, and she turned, seeing a man half-lounging across the polished wood. He wasn’t anyone she knew: a typical farmer with sandy hair and a stained plaid shirt, but he was eyeing her up with a look she wasn’t sure she liked. “Would ya look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, boys? Big Ben’s gone and caught himself a bird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did he have to whistle to catch her?” another wondered aloud, and that got a round of laughter. Maz’s indignant face popped up from behind the bar as Rey turned away, face on fire, trying to ignore them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was very still, his eyes gone dark and hard as he looked at the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How d’you catch a bird, then, if you can’t sweet-talk her?” said a third, to another chorus of rowdy laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey stood up, practically vibrating out of her skin, making Ben jump. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she spat, infuriated. The men all </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh-</span>
  </em>
  <span>ed, laughing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if he could tell us the secret,” joked another, and threw a crumpled-up napkin at Ben. It bounced off his shoulder and hit the floor. Ben flinched, looking away. Both his fists were clenched under the table, his nose and ears gone scarlet with humiliation, and Rey couldn’t stand it: how could anyone be so ignorant and cruel? Someone else laughed and threw a coaster, which struck Ben in the cheek. A red mark bloomed on the skin, and a soft hiss escaped his teeth. “Come on, tell us!” jeered the sandy-haired man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey snatched up her glass and flung it right back at the bar, and it caught the man who’d thrown the coaster in the eye. He bellowed and clutched his face as blood began to seep past his fingers, stumbling back against the bar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave him be, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you fuckin' cunts!” she screamed, enraged, and snatched up a chair: every fight she’d been in when she was in school, every altercation in uni she’d been admonished for came searing back into her brain, her muscle memory, burning away the artificial veneer of whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>civility</span>
  </em>
  <span> was supposed to be. Ben jerked out of his seat, but she barely saw him: she was swinging the chair, Maz was shouting, and the men were yelling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heavy wood caught the biggest man in the chest, and when he tried to swing at her, bellowing like the bull she’d narrowly escaped, Rey sidestepped the blow and headbutted him in the nose. “Christ!” he yelled, blood streaming down his lip, and staggered back against the bar. Rey didn’t have time to care about him: someone else had grabbed her by the hair, and she twisted out of his grip, biting him hard to make him let go, then turning and using her momentum to knock him down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something hard hit her in the shoulder, and she staggered, then turned to see the last man: the sandy-haired one who had called her a bird, and didn’t hesitate before lowering her head and charging him like a goat, catching him in the belly and knocking him down, too. “Anyone else want to fuckin’ have a go at my friend?” she shouted, spitting on him. There was blood in her mouth. She didn’t think it was all hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good God, girl,” said Maz, looking horrified over the counter. It snapped Rey back to reality a bit, and she caught her breath and looked at the damage. A broken chair, a shattered glass, three stunned farmers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pay, Maz,” she managed, trying to calm her pounding heart. She felt sick. “I’ll pay for it, I’m sorry.” A hand took her by the upper arm, and she turned to see Ben, staring at her with an indescribable expression. She knew exactly what he was seeing, too. All the false layers of being high-class, someone with money, a proper landowner, had been stripped like a bad finish, and there she was: just a scrappy, dirty, raw little girl from the East End who owned nothing but pride and didn’t take shit from anyone. Tears welled in her eyes, and Ben blurred into a pale-dark smear. “I’m sorry,” she said again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You three get out of my pub,” Maz said sharply, and it took Rey a moment to realize she was addressing the farmers, who were collecting themselves and nursing their wounds. “I’ve got cameras in here and as far as I care, you started the fight. How dare you start throwing things at a boy like Ben who’d not hurt a fly? Get out, or I’ll tell every pub owner from here to Ogbourne St. George that you run your bills up and don’t pay for weeks. Get out!” There was muttering and jostling, and Rey wiped her eyes in time to see them all hurrying out the door. “They never pay their bill anyway,” said Maz, bristling as she came round the bar and flipped the sign to CLOSED before she came back and hopped up on a stool. “Mercy me, Rey. Let’s see that lip.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My lip’s fine,” Rey protested as Maz’s firm hands guided her to sit. The pub was empty: the other people must have left, and she had never noticed. “It’s fine, really, Maz— Ben had a coaster thrown at him—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shook his head and touched his cheekbone, where the red mark was swelling a little. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she could almost hear him say, and then he pointed at her mouth. Rey explored her lip with her tongue and winced at the sting: she had split it somehow, and not noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ice for the both of you, then,” said Maz, clicking her tongue as she went back behind the bar and wrapped two chunks of ice in tea-towels, handing them over to both parties. Ben held it gingerly to his cheek and Rey pressed hers to her mouth. “Don’t you worry. I’m not calling the police. Never liked those boys anyway, not since they were in secondary and were always chasing and throwing rocks at Ben—” Ben made a sharp noise in his throat and shook his head, staring at Maz with blazing eyes, and she cut herself off, sighing. “Well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” demanded Rey, stunned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my story to tell,” said Maz firmly, exchanging a look with Ben. “Unless I have leave, thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben looked at Maz for a long time, his lips moving like he was going to be sick, and then nodded slowly, closing his eyes and bowing his head, then getting up and going to sit in the furthest corner of the empty pub.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t… I don’t understand,” said Rey, lost entirely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t. But you will,” said Maz, and sighed. “Ben was… perfectly ordinary. A bit high-strung, but a sweet boy, you see, when he came to live here. He was about thirteen at the time, and he had his moments, like any boy that age—he could get very angry. His parents were a couple of lovely American expats, and he got mocked and bullied for that: he had big ears and was tall and had spots, and he got teased and bullied awfully for that, and he played the piano beautifully, and got bullied for that. If I had a pound every time I heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘ooh, ya Yank faggot cunt’</span>
  </em>
  <span> coming from that high street, Rey girl, I’d be as rich as the Queen. The brawls were astonishing. He nearly killed a boy once, though, when he was fifteen, and after that they learned to leave him be a little, but the damage was already done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey was surprised at the anger in Maz’s tone as she imitated the children. “And it just got worse as time went on, and I think he blamed himself for that boy being hurt. Back then they didn’t know as much as they do now about anxiousness, you know, and how it can eat a person alive, and what it can do—well, Ben stopped talking to everyone at school, and only spoke to his parents, and once he had finished his last year, he ran off and tried to join the Army, but got discharged on account of being mute, and when he came back it all just got worse. Didn’t even speak to his family by then. He couldn’t find employment, for nobody’d hire a mute, and his parents didn’t understand what the matter was. I expect they thought, well, he used to speak well enough, and there’s nothing physically the matter with him. Except his mother treated him a bit like an invalid, because she didn’t understand it, and his father thought tough love was the way to solve it, but of course none of that helped, and between the pair of them nothing got better for Ben.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And… then?” pressed Rey, shocked at this tale.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then they died,” said Maz, dabbing at her eyes with a bit of handkerchief. “Traffic accident. It was terrible, what happened to them. Ben was left alone in the world, with only a bit of money they’d left him to live on, and that was when your grandfather swept in and offered him a job at Queensbury.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cold sweat prickled down Rey’s back. The letter he’d written her, that she’d burnt: </span>
  <em>
    <span>he told me no one else would hire a useless mute— I didn’t have anywhere else to go— </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Surely he got some sort of benefits,” she managed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, of course,” said Maz. “Your grandfather helped him apply, in fact. Got him looked at by a doctor so he could qualify for disability.” Somehow, she didn’t sound as if she liked it, and Rey had a startling thought: did Maz know about her grandfather’s mistreatment of Ben? “But that boy was always coming round to run errands with bruises and bumps, marks and cuts and such, and I thought… well, nothing against your granddad, dear, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was true,” Rey blurted out, trembling. “He abused him, he did: beat him and took the dole money and, and when Granddad died—” She couldn’t speak further, couldn’t give away Ben’s awful secret, but Maz’s dark hand covered hers, as warm as rich earth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she said firmly, and nodded, the expression in her eyes telling Rey everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Granddad made </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>life hell,” said Rey, tearing up. “And my dad’s. I suppose he was just so mean he couldn’t stand not being so, and got someone else to be mean to, so he could go on doing it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some people are like that,” said Maz quietly. “And some people are so kind and full of love to give that even mistreatment and fear can’t make ‘em stop being as such.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The thing is,” Rey choked, wiping her eyes with her sleeve as she dabbed her scabbing lip, “the thing is, I’ve got no idea which I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good Lord, girl, do I look like Madame Travelling Fortune-Teller to you?” demanded Maz, gently shaking her by the shoulder. “Have I got a turban on my head and tarot cards? I can’t tell you what you are. Heaven’s sakes. Now, you take some advice from old Maz. Go get that boy and drive back to Queensbury, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>live. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The life you’re missing so much isn’t in the past, girl. It’s ahead of you. You can’t be looking back always at the past, or you’ll trip over the present.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” said Rey, sniffling. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry about the pub, again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never you mind about the pub,” said Maz, waving her hand. “It’s been here since the days of King George the First and it’s survived far worse than a little spat like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey went over to Ben and rested her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. He’d chosen to sit in the shadowiest corner, as if he was trying to hide, and did not move for a moment, before reaching up and brushing her fingers with his in acknowledgement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re going home,” she said firmly. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood, towering over her, and followed her out to the car, sliding in: his weight rocked the cab as she started up the Mini and began to trundle along out the road back to Queensbury. “I guess you know what Maz told me,” Rey told him as she turned on St. Martins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded, looking out the window in silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, trying to think of how on earth to phrase anything she wanted to say to him. “I, I—I’m sorry, you know, if I embarrassed you in the pub— I was just so angry they were treating you like that, and, and the last thing I wanted was for you to be hurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A choked sound came from the passenger side, and Rey turned to see Ben staring at her with red, bright eyes, on the verge of tears. “Oh, God,” she said, alarmed, and pulled the car over to the shoulder, jerking it into park and turning to face him as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Ben, what is it? What’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His enormous hands reached out, and she found herself being pulled bodily into a heavy embrace, fingers tangled in her clothes as Ben clung to her tight and shook with silent, tearless sobs. She hugged him back as much as she could, unsure of what had brought this on, and half-cramped in the Mini. One of her knees was shoved against the gear-shaft. “Shh, shh,” she whispered, patting his back awkwardly through his jumper. “Hey. Whatever it is, it’s all right. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a little sound and nodded against her neck, then pulled back, releasing her with something like embarrassment all over his face. Both dark eyes avoided hers, and looked at the floor of the car instead as his hands twined themselves together in his lap, head bowed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hell with it,” she muttered, and leaned forward, taking his cheeks in her hands and kissing him soundly on the mouth. He gasped a little around the edges of her lips, but took her by the shoulders again, hands firm as they clung to her, and only released her when she pulled away, feeling giddy and warm. Her lip stung, and he tasted of Guinness, but she didn’t care. “There. Better?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes looked… molten. Dizzy. Drunk. A slow, careful nod was his only answer. Rey scrambled back to her seat, flushed, and started the engine again. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they pulled back into the drive at Queensbury, Rey got out of the car and paused in her stride, unsure of where she should go. Ben was standing, watching her for some cue, eyes darting between her and the stable, her and the cottage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay. Maybe he should choose. “Where d’you want to go?” she asked softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat bobbed as he gulped, and he looked at the stables, then back at her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Makes sense,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, her knees wobbling a little. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s his space. He probably feels safest there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Okay,” she said, gulping back her sudden apprehension. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no way they were ending this day </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>having had sex. That was clear from the expression on Ben’s face as he approached her, and from the way her belly was flipping wildly inside her guts, but she—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, God. He’s my employee. I can’t— can I? I can’t, he’s had enough terrible dysfunctional relationships in his life without—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben, oblivious to her inner panic, reached out and tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear, and Rey closed her eyes, tears leaking out and down her cheeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ben hummed lightly and brushed the moisture away, his thumb careful on the delicate skin of her face. “I’m, this, I can’t, I don’t want to hurt you any more,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “If you want to go, to leave here, I, I won’t stop you—I know this place can’t be good for you, not after what Maz told me and what, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> told me, either and I just, you deserve to be happy—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pair of massive hands cupped her face, and Ben was looking at her, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t hope to understand, shaking his head, eyes brimming with tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” she managed, unable to get her thoughts into order in the face of those soft, heartwood eyes. “So, you don’t, don’t want to leave, then? Because I can’t, I shouldn’t— ah, God.” Rey wiped her eyes clear and took a deep breath. “You, we kissed. A couple of times. And I, I certainly don’t mind it, not at all, but you’re technically my employee, aren’t you? And I don’t want you to feel like you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do things like that, you know— you had enough of that with Granddad, being, being pushed about and beat on for years and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shook his head tightly, eyes fixed on hers. “Home,” he forced out, the hands cupping her face slipping down to her neck, her shoulders, as if he couldn’t believe she was letting him touch her. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer: this was his home, the only home he knew or had, and he didn’t want to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, you do understand,” Rey pressed, hands spread out gently against his broad chest, “that, that I can’t, we shouldn’t—” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You... don’t make me feel like... I have to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, careful and halting, eyes shut, and she pressed her lips together, ignoring the sting, to let him speak. “If there’s any… I’m thirty. You’re… younger. I would be… pressuring </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You would not,” she said, half-laughing. “You’re sure, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know,” he admitted, swallowing hard and looking away from her face for a moment. “Never… happened before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you telling me you’re… you’ve never had, I mean, I know I asked before, but, ah, you’ve really not—” He nodded, shying away from speech again. “Right. Well, that’s all right.” Rey patted his shoulder awkwardly as his cheeks went red. “Hey. ‘S fine.” Why had she ever assumed he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> have ever dated anyone, or even had sex? He was a massive, silent man who she had assumed was sullen and angry the first time she’d seen him: nobody like that would exactly have women lining up to date them. “I’ll make it nice, Ben. If that’s, you know. What you want.” He looked back at her, incredulous, and Rey wasn’t sure if it was because nobody had ever said anything of the sort to him, or if he’d expected to have to be the one making it nice, but she hugged him anyway when he didn’t speak. “Let’s… let’s not go to the stables, yeah? Let’s go sit in the flower garden for a bit. Just us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded softly and put his hand into hers, and let her lead him away from the car in the sunshine.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The garden was dripping with the scent of lilac and honeysuckle, bees tumbling lazily in the afternoon air as they bumped from blossom to blossom, golden and fuzzy with pollen. Ben sat down in the thick summer grass of the lawn dotted with violets, his knobbly green jumper pushed up to his elbows as he rested his arms on his knees and listened to the hum of the bees, and Rey sat beside him, watching as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sun on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His beard had grown in, patchy and dark along his chin, She felt a terrible urge to stroke it with her fingers. Instead, she sat quietly and leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the golden motes of pollen drift through the air. It was warm, and she felt completely at ease, apart from the anticipation of whatever was to come coiling through her belly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not sixteen anymore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she scolded herself, and reached up, resting her right hand on his thick upper arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben turned after a moment and nosed along her forehead, the hair on his lip tickling her there, then sighed deeply as he shifted his position, curling his arm around her shoulders and holding her close. The embrace lasted for a while before his other hand came round to the front and tentatively rested just above her knee, slipping up toward her groin with careful, slow movements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey bit her lip. His hands were so warm. She had almost forgotten. “Go on, then,” she managed, hardly able to look at him as he brushed the seam of her jeans with his broad fingers and carefully, carefully undid the button and fly there, tugging them open. Ben’s breath had started to come in short little pants, his cheeks flushed already, and after he’d worked her jeans open he unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders with all the care he might have given a porcelain figure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, there she sat in undone jeans, and no shirt, just her plain pink bra. Ben swallowed thickly and palmed the front of his own trousers, adjusting himself as his cheeks flamed, and Rey forced herself not to stare: there would be time enough for that later. “I don’t suppose you’d let me…” she trailed off, and took hold of his jumper, easing it up. He did let her: he practically tore it off his own body once he realized she wanted it off him, and beneath it, his T-shirt, too, which left him in his trousers and nothing much else. Rey rolled to her knees and touched his bare chest, white as milk in the bright sunlight: all the scars, every one of the freckles and moles, the sparse thatch of dark hair directly between his pectorals… and the other one, below his navel, leading downward in a soft trail. His stomach tightened to the touch as she let her fingers explore him, and he caught her wrist in his hand, breath coming in uneven little sounds as her fingertips traced lower, grazing the waistband of his trousers. “No?” she asked softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben only shut his eyes tightly and swallowed before releasing her wrist. Rey reached for the fly of his trousers and palmed him lightly,  trying her best to hide her inner thoughts when she felt the general size of what, exactly, Ben had in his trousers beneath that denim. “D’you want—” she began, but had hardly got the words out before Ben nodded quickly, half-bracing himself, and looking away. His whole frame was shaking with anticipation. Quickly, Rey undid his trousers, and cupped him again though the thick cotton of his Y-fronts, mapping him out with a careful hand. He felt hot to the touch, and very, very hard. “Oh,” she said, swallowing. “Big— big everywhere, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pair of amber-hazel eyes met hers in confusion. “Big?” he asked in a ragged voice, bewildered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she told him, smiling. “It’s not a bad thing. I’ll just—just, did you want to go up to the house for this part, or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Here, I want— here.” He reached behind her back and tugged the hooks of her bra open with one nimble hand, pulling it off her chest, and his lips parted, eyes fixed to her breasts. “God,” he said, sounding like he was in pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She could do that, couldn’t she? A romp in the grass was not on her (admittedly very short) sexual resume, but there was a first time for everything. “Mm,” she agreed, and reared up to kiss him again, nipping gently at his lips, encouraging him until he opened his lips and groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her breasts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wouldn’t mind if he got a bit rough,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, dizzy as she pulled away. “I’ll bet I can make you say a few things you haven’t said before,” she told him, grinning as he blinked in dazed confusion. First order of business was moving herself down, so she disentangled her body from his grasping hands and settled over his knees, bending down to tug down his jeans and underwear to his thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At last, the full view of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>precisely</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had got in his pants sprang free, and Rey had to take a moment to silently give thanks. Ben’s cock was just as broad and big and flushed as he was, and his foreskin was practically straining to contain the slick, plump head. She wriggled down for a better look and took all of him in: the thick ridge and vein along the underside, the heavy, full testicles in their nest of soft dark hair. “Can I, can I lick you?” she asked, and she hadn’t meant to sound so eager, but Ben’s hands were twisted tightly around two thick tufts of grass, and he wheezed out a </span>
  <em>
    <span>uh-huh </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound that most definitely was meant to be a yes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey bent her head and inhaled lightly. Between his legs, it smelt only of crushed grass, cotton, and a faint tang of sweat. She licked him from base to tip, and Ben let out a horrible sound above her, the grass tearing up as he jerked. Rey would have lifted her head away, but his hand came down, trembling, on her cheek, and guided her up and down along his length as a few choked sounds escaped his throat, one after the other, but never made to guide her up to the tip so she could put her mouth on him properly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wouldn’t do at all. She shook free of his hand, notched her lips in an O at the tip, and slid down as far as she could. The results were extremely gratifying. Ben went taut as a violin string and kicked out with one foot, shouting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck! Christ! Yes! Ah! Fuck!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> before his brain apparently turned to mush and a torrent of meaningless, frantic noise poured out to match the flood of come in Rey’s mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raised her head when he seemed done. Ben lay on his back, hands covering his face, shaking silently, his cock going soft along his hip. “Oh, God. Ben?” she asked, swallowing the last remnants of salty, earthy come. “Hey, Ben, I’m sorry, that was fast, was it too much?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lowered his hands and stared at her. “Too—” he echoed, and before she knew what was happening, he had surged up, rolled her to her back, and crouched over her, tugging her pants down and exposing her nethers to the summer air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, what are you—” she stammered, blushing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sauce... for the goose,” he said, eyeing her up with those honey-dark eyes before crawling up and fastening his mouth between her legs. Rey shrieked: nobody had ever done this to her, and his large nose was pressing just </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span> where she most needed it: his tongue and lips worked at her and she reached down, guiding his head, fingers tangled in his silken hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God, God,” she babbled, trying not to kick him. “Just there, just— please, Ben, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m, I’m, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ohhhh</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think I’m going to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she did, after a bit: noisily, thrashing in the grass and crushing half the violets as he moaned into her cunt and pulled his head away, his lips swollen and flushed. “Home,” he whispered, hoarse and wanting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey could not walk yet. “Give me— a moment,” she panted, flinging an arm above her head. Thank God there were no neighbors for miles. What would they think of her with her trousers to her knees and her tits out? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Home,” Ben demanded, slightly louder, a smile in his voice, and Rey squealed, laughing as he caught her up, threw her over one broad, warm shoulder, and carried her and their clothes down to the cottage, which stood waiting to welcome them in the afternoon sunshine.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Halfway across the drive, though, Ben changed his mind and marched into the estate house, which intrigued Rey, but she didn’t press him about it: it was rather a delightful idea to think of sullying such a fusty, awful old place. What would Granddad have thought of her, she wondered as Ben marched in and set her half-clothed form down on the sofa in the dim drawing room, shagging the caretaker on his ugly old turn of the century furniture? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Probably have called me a slut and had me disowned. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben shucked off his trousers again and eyed her up, looking apprehensive as she sat up a little. Rey banished her thoughts and reached forward to pluck a crushed violet out of his hair. “What is it?” she asked. He shook his head and stood, crossing to the curtains and tugging them open a little, letting a stream of sunshine into the dark, fusty room. Dust motes floated like little golden specks in the light. Rey frowned as he came back to her, kneeling again. “I never asked— why did you freeze up on me, the time— the first time I let you see me naked?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s shoulders hunched a little. “Afraid,” he said softly, shrugging and not making eye contact. “Thought… thought you were pretty.” She had never noticed his American accent before. “And I’m not. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not ugly,” she told him, stroking his face. “And I wouldn’t give a shit if you were, either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not your employee,” he said a moment later, eyes half shut as he leaned into her palm. “Just so you know. He left money in a separate account for me to be... paid out of for ten years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Rey, feeling somewhat more at ease. “Good.” Ben sucked in a breath, and she noticed his hands were trembling a little as they rested by her hips. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talking a lot,” he said, avoiding looking at her. “Just. Hard. Freaks me out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey grinned. “That’s okay. It’s just me, yeah? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben considered that and nodded, scooting himself closer to her. He should have looked ridiculous, a grown man in Y-fronts kneeling between her thighs on a carpet two hundred years old. He didn’t. “Safe,” he said softly, and Rey bent down, finding his soft, gentle mouth with hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kissed him, and kissed him, and once he had warmed to her and become bolder, clutching her right breast and burying his other fingers in her hair, she took his right hand and guided it between her thighs, fighting a whimper as the calloused pads of his fingers brushed her where it felt most sensitive on the way down. “I’ll show you how it works,” she whispered, shivering as his fingers curled inquisitively, dipping into her, pushing in. His hands were big, and she fought a moan as they worked her open. “Um— yes, like th-that. Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a soft sound, as if of amazement, and pulled his fingers back out, leaving a wet trail on her inner thigh. “Can I,” he asked, hot against her throat as he fumbled with his drawers, yanking them off and trying to kiss her all at once, “can I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes, please—” Rey inched forward, straddling his hips from a half-reclining position, but Ben’s eyes suddenly widened, and he clapped a hand to his forehead, almost dropping her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Horses!” he rasped, looking stricken. “Didn’t feed them! Eight! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He withdrew from her and scrambled for his clothes, giving her longing, torn looks as he did. Rey couldn’t help but hide a smile behind her hands as she put her own clothes back on, feeling slightly disappointed that she had to wait again, but she knew pieces of his schedule as well as hers by now: horses fed at eight and four, stalls mucked out at noon, and it was past one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Need help?” she asked, buttoning her shirt up. “I could do the stalls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, hopping on one foot as he pulled his boots back on. “Just. Stay. I’ll be back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, she didn’t exactly want to be left alone in this creepy old estate house, but he was already out the door, so she pulled her pants on, stretched, walked around the room, and let her fingers trail over the piano keys, tapping out a bad rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” before standing and heading for the foyer. The hall was still dim, despite the bright sunshine, and she reached for the banister, her palms grazing the carved, smooth old wood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had never been upstairs before. It hadn’t been allowed: when she and Dad had been invited to the house, it had only ever been on occasions like Christmas or Easter, or…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was wearing those black shiny shoes. Uncomfortable, with a strap across the top of my foot, and ruffled socks: Dad was talking to Granddad and there were people in the house, other people. My dress was black velvet, I remember it was soft when I touched it, I was sitting by a window and the sun was warm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey clung to the memory, trying to recall it in full, but it slipped out of her mind like water through fingers. Mum’s funeral, it must have been, then: she would have been four, and they must have held something here, even though… wouldn’t the funeral have been at a church?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mum even buried? Then, she remembered: Holy Cross, the church about ten minutes’ walk down the road.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had forgotten. Why had she forgotten?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey took a step up the stairs. A shudder rippled down her spine: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this isn’t where I’m supposed to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it was: this was her house, now, and not Granddad’s anymore. She took another step up and up, ascending the long-forbidden steps, looking at the old paintings on the walls as she went up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My house. My house. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stair ended on a broad landing, and she turned down the hall, as if hypnotized. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have to keep going. I want to see it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The house creaked as she walked, the floorboards old and complaining under her young feet, and Rey’s fingers touched the walls. Silk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>silk</span>
  </em>
  <span> hung from floor to ceiling in this stupid old house while she’d spent her childhood wearing cheap Tesco clothes. It smelled like an antique shop up here: paper and books and old wood. She opened a half-closed door, and stepped inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing much met her vision, but she stiffly legged her way to the curtain over the window and tugged it open, the bronze rings scraping on the rod, and when Rey turned, she saw a bedroom, a bedroom that hadn’t been touched in years. The ancient old canopy bed, the bedcovers still rumpled as if someone had slept in it, but covered in a film of dust, rested along one wall. On the floor, there was a tray, upturned, silver, tarnished: also covered in a layer of dust— the carpet had been disturbed, and a desk on the other wall caught her eye, the chair half-pulled out as if waiting for its last occupant to return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dark, brown stain smeared the wrinkled carpet, the wooden floor between it and the chair, and the chair itself, on the silk-upholstered seat. An iron poker, long-discarded, lay at a drunken angle on the hearth of the fireplace on the other wall. Rey looked at it for a very long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It happened here. He died here. In this room. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood there in the middle of the floor, staring at the stain with unseeing eyes. The walls seemed to hum with memories of the pain and anger they’d witnessed, and she fancied for a moment she could almost see the scene: Ben, backed into a corner, Granddad shouting the house down and swinging that awful poker at him. How long had it taken, she wondered, for Ben to snap and finally deliver that fatal blow? Minutes? Half an hour? Whatever the amount of time, it had all ended the same. His cruelty had been his end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the curtains swayed lightly, making Rey turn around, startled, to watch it. Was Granddad’s ghost nearby, watching her even now? The thought was chilling. Some malevolent spirit, unable to rest, haunting this place: forever tied to the place he had valued above his own family. She gripped her arms above the elbows and shivered, listening intently to the silent room. “Granddad?” she whispered, half-terrified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no answer. Faint piano music began to play from the ground floor, and Rey shut her eyes, smiling: it was Chopin, so Ben must be back from the stables. After all, ghosts could not touch the living, even if they were real, she reflected as she left the room. Only in memory, or through the scars they’d left in life— and Granddad had left many scars both seen and unseen, but her life was hers, now, and not tied to anyone anymore. She wondered why it had taken her so long to understand that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the sunlit drawing room, Ben’s head was visible just above the piano, bent over slightly as she entered. His eyes darted up to look at her, shy and unsure and greeny-brown in the light, then dropped down again to the keys. The melody shifted from Chopin to something she had never heard before: a gentle, simple set of chords in the lower keys, then a carefully played, sweet melody in the higher keys over it that brought to mind summer days in the fields, flowers, the softness of his mouth and the strength of his hands. Rey sat on the sofa and listened, watching him as he played. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It went on and on, shifting into a new key, the delicate strokes of his right-hand fingers repeating the same four clear, happy notes over and over as his left hand played the harmonizing chords, then shifted into a measure where the music swelled, joyful and bright. Ben’s eyes lifted from the keys and found hers as the music he was playing quieted back into the first chords again, then slowed, then stopped as he finished the piece, playing one last bright little note as the piano’s echoes faded into nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither of them spoke for a moment. Ben’s eyes remained fixed on her, even as he stood up slowly and circled the bench, walking to her. Warmth flooded her body, along with tight, shaky anticipation: finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“That was lovely,” she said. “What was it?” Ben said nothing, but a flush spread across his cheeks as he came to awkwardly stand in front of her. She had to crane her head back to look at him as he stood there for a moment, looking at her helplessly, hands opening and closing. “Did you, you still want to—” A quick nod, firm, was her answer, and Rey bit her bottom lip. Maybe he didn’t quite know how to initiate, or he was afraid to. That was fine. “Right. Um. You ought to lie down on the rug, then. And, and take off your clothes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben swallowed hard, his thick throat bobbing, and did as she said with frenzied speed, stripping down bare and lying on his back, hands at his sides at rest. She pulled off her own clothes (she rather wished he’d take them off her, but there would be time for that later) and eyed his supine form with some apprehension. His cock, fully hard already, jutted up between his upper thighs and pointed at his face like some kind of signpost. Rey considered her options and decided it might be easiest to sit on him. “So,” she said, laying her clothes on the sofa and crouching awkwardly over his thighs, “I’m just going to, ah, make it simple, I suppose. Is that all right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded again, tight and terse, eyes squeezed shut like he was bracing for something awful. Rey reached out and stroked his chest gently, making him start. “Easy,” she murmured, brushing his flat, pale nipples with her thumbs until they stood up beneath her touch. “I won’t hurt you. There’s nothing to be scared of.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of his hands came up and tenderly brushed her chest, then belly, then thigh in a long, smooth stroke with the back of his knuckles. “I know,” he said softly, eyes still shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, okay, just—” Rey took his hard, warm cock in her hand, and he went stiff as a board, flinging one arm up over his eyes, his enormous chest expanding and contracting with heaving breaths. “Ben,” she said softly, letting go of him. “I promised. I won’t hurt you. D’you need some more time to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he forced out in a desperate half-whine from behind his arm. “No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> more waiting, please—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All right, then you just, you tell me how it is,” she offered, and he clung to her hip with his free hand, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she took him again and touched herself, got herself good and ready, helped him find where he was supposed to go. “Like this, yeah?” she asked, notching him properly. Ben grunted in agreement as she wriggled down a little on him: the head was thick and solid and blunt, and this wasn’t going to be simple. “Right, okay, I’m going to get you in. Just be patient a moment,” she said, gritting her teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another grunt of assent, and Rey bit her lip, working at herself and at him, the leaking fluid at the tip of his cock spread about him: spreading herself a little wider with two fingers and easing him in with her other hand until he was sliding freely into her about an inch, Ben’s belly a taut landscape below her as she groaned. It took a moment to work him in fully, and Rey grimaced against the burn and stretch as her body accomodated him. She thought he might not fit, but then— </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> something seemed to click, and he did fit: he was seated fully inside her, feeling as if he was rammed up into her lungs and she was trying to remember how to breathe as she clung to his chest, bent over him as he lay trembling beneath her. “Oh, God. Right,” she gasped, trying to remember how she’d last done this. “Right, can you, you, you can roll me over if you like and, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben had no such intention at the moment, it seemed. He jerked his hips up into her, which made Rey cry out: he was hitting something tender and sensitive along the front of her, inside. “Ben—” He did it again, careful and deliberate, and Rey cried out, her blunt, short nails digging into his chest as his arms came up to tug her down, crush her flat atop him. “Don’t, don’t let me fall,” she whimpered into his neck as she lay on him, and he grunted, clinging to her with arms that could have been wrought of iron, then thrust up a few more times, making her yelp into his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must have decided it wasn’t comfortable, his ass bouncing off the carpet, because after a few more experimental thrusts he rolled her over in a clumsy tangle of legs and arms so that she was beneath him and he was nestled between her spread thighs, bracing himself with his arms, panting hard into her throat as she moaned and clung to his back. This was a bit more familiar of a position, she thought, closing her eyes and inhaling the smells of the outdoors: horses, hay, faint manure, leather. Her ass skidded a little across the rough carpet with every movement, though, and the discomfort must have been audible, because Ben pulled away and reconsidered for a moment, brows furrowed, then looked at the piano for a good long moment, chest already gleaming with exertion. She followed his gaze: the lid of the piano was about a meter off the ground, so it would be the right height, but— </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You w-want to fuck me over the piano?” she managed, half in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben looked back at her, and the expression on his face told her all she needed to know. Quickly, he sat up on his haunches and away, pulling her up to stand, then walking her to the piano, clinging to her arm as if she needed to be shown exactly what he wanted. His eyes seemed distant, his gait clumsy, and Rey let him pull her in front of him, her back to his chest, and push her down gently onto the smooth, cool mahogany until she was bent over, arms in front of her, one cheek touching the finish. His hands brushed the rug-burned marks on her back, her elbows, her shoulders, her backside, then drifted lower and fumbled around between her legs. With a small sound, Ben guided himself in again, sheathing himself home in one quick, blunt movement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey let out a small cry, scrabbling against the polished hardwood. This new angle meant she could feel him everywhere: he was bordering on uncomfortably big like this, and she pulled her thighs together a little. He gave a slow, experimental thrust, and she groaned out loud. His cock was pushing against the skin of her abdomen, right against the edge of the piano that dug into her lower belly: she could feel him, and he could feel it, too, letting out a weak little sound as he repeated the motion and his knees almost gave out. It was right on the edge of painful, and Rey grabbed with her toes for purchase along the carpet, finding none by her hands. “You, you, have to ch-change the way I’m—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben lifted her and pushed her more fully forward onto the lid so that she lay flat on her belly, feet off the floor, and since the piano was just at hip-height for him, he bent half over her, planting one hand on her back to keep her there and the other on the smooth wood before he started canting his hips in a punishingly even gait, the slap of skin on skin the only sound in the room beside Rey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of her throat at this point: it was humiliating, and she’d never </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> this before during sex, any sex, anything: the noises were being shaken out of her from a place she hadn’t realized existed, and it felt so, so good. Squeaks, cries, groans— Ben didn’t seem to care, though, and she let herself yowl like a cat in heat as his cock hit every nerve she owned and some she hadn’t realized existed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was silent, apart from gasps for air. Rey wished she could see his face. She distantly wondered if he’d seen her foil pill packet in the cottage bathroom and that was why he hadn’t bothered to ask about or bring up contraception: she squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as her body unbelievably inched towards an orgasm. “Ben, Ben, I’m, I’m going to c-come—” she gasped, and let out a wail as she finished, bearing down on him hard and forcing a tight whine out of his throat, her whole body shaking as she came down. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, and Ben slowed his strokes, tangling one hand in her hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quiet,” he ground out between his teeth, the first words he’d uttered since she’d walked into this room. “S-someone. Might hear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The idea of being caught </span>
  <em>
    <span>in flagrante delicto</span>
  </em>
  <span> by someone, anyone happening to walk into the drawing room brought hot shame to Rey’s cheeks and something even warmer to burn in her belly as she let out another strangled sound. “Can’t,” she gasped, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be quiet, help me, Ben—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ben gasped, and clapped one huge hand across her mouth as his hips redoubled their efforts, slamming into her hard. She didn’t care that her thighs were going to be bruised to shit, either: Ben was losing it over her, shaking apart as he buried his face in the back of her neck. It didn’t take long before he let out a strangled sob and his rhythm stuttered, warmth blooming in the thick, full space between her legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It stung when he pulled out, just a little, and Rey huffed softly, pushing herself up by her forearms. Ben remained where he was, pressed lightly against her backside, bracing his weight on the trembling hands bracketing her shoulders, and panting for air. “You all right?” she asked, trying to twist her head to see him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grunt was her only answer, and his nose came down, nuzzling into the back of her neck, into her hair. One large hand came up, stroking the damp strands off her skin, and trailing lightly along her spine; then, Ben raised himself away from her with a heavy sigh. Rey scooted back, stood up, and leaned on the piano as she turned to face him, because she didn’t think her knees would hold her up. Both his cheeks were red with either exertion or shame, and he was shooting her shy little glances from under his hair as he stepped back, hands twisting together. “That was— good,” she said quickly, wondering if he was worried about her. “Really good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Ben said, and just stood there, chest expanding and falling like a massive, milk-white set of bellows. The uncertain, lost expression on his face confused Rey. Why did he look like he didn’t know what was happening, when he’d just fucked her silly over the piano?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to hold him. Even more than that, she wanted him to hold her. Maybe he didn’t know about cuddling. Maybe she had to tell him. “We could, ah—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced down at his watch, the only thing he’d kept on, and his eyes flickered wider for a moment. “Email,” he said, halting and uneven. “Police.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to write an email to the police?” Rey blinked for a moment, rewinding the events of the day. “Oh! Right. They’re escorting Hux down here to get his animals tomorrow. You—you have to check your email, yeah, about the—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” echoed Ben, and looked around for his clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey, seeing no reason to remain naked if he was getting dressed, pulled hers back on, too. “I— I suppose I’ll, ah, see you for tea, then?” Ben hesitated, halfway through pulling his shirt back on, and nodded cautiously, darting a glance at her before shuffling into his jeans and pulling his boots back on. She tugged her shoes back on and nearly said </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait, let me kiss you first,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he was already gone, hurrying out the door like he had to be anywhere else, anywhere at all, and she didn’t know why.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. beloved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At two-thirty, Rey left a note for him in the cottage: </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone to see Mum’s grave. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walk to the churchyard at Holy Cross was about twenty minutes, but she didn’t mind it. The afternoon was reaching its long, golden fingers out over the fields, sparrows dove and rose in arcs over the river, and the wind played at her hair as she walked along the hedgerows, her boots crunching in the grass and gravel. So strange: she hadn’t been this way in years, years: yet she felt as sure of where she was going as if someone was standing just ahead, calling to her with an arm waving, shouting </span>
  <em>
    <span>follow me, I’ll show you the way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mum had died in an accident. She knew that, had been told so as a child, and had harbored secret fantasies about the whole thing, being too young at the time to really understand— had it truly been an accident, or had terrible old Granddad pushed her down the stairs? Was Mum really dead, or has she simply been spirited away by fairies, or maybe secret police, or James Bond? She had said something to Dad once, and the expression in his face had warned her off at once: there was to be no speaking about Mum anymore, or fairies, or Granddad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t even remember her, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, grief and guilt suddenly seizing her heart. She had only been four, after all: memories surely didn’t go back that far, did they? It had just been Dad and her for so long… but no, that wasn’t right. Rey halted in the middle of the path, eyes screwed shut, trying to think of any memory concerning her mother at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Warm, yellow light. A mirror, and a knobbly old bedspread under Rey’s legs: white, the kind with raised bumps that made patterns. A woman’s slender back to her, clad in a pink dress, doing something in the mirror. Putting on lipstick, maybe, or doing hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her face,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought, despondent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did she look like?</span>
  </em>
  <span> But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember her mother’s face. Dad’s face had been kind, honest, grubby and scruffy when he didn’t shave: Rey knew her hair color had been inherited from him, along with her eye color, but apart from the shape of her jaw and cheekbones, perhaps, nothing else on her face was Dad’s. Therefore, she reasoned, the rest must have been Mum’s, but trying to reverse-engineer her mother’s face from her own features was impossible. She must have had a sharp, insolent nose like Rey’s, and the same smile, the same eye shape. Dad hadn’t kept any photos of Mum, or if he had, Rey certainly had never seen them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kept walking. The afternoon was long, and there was still a bit to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The church and churchyard had not changed at all, apart from perhaps the trees having grown bigger in the past twenty-odd years. Rey meandered up and down the rows of stones, looking at the dates: seventeen-hundreds, eighteen-hundreds, dates on stones so old she couldn’t read them anymore. Big stones, small stones, elaborate stones, tiny stones with lambs or cherubs carved on the tops, stones half-falling down and covered in moss. Stones: all marked a life, someone who had once been breathing and walking around just as she was, who had felt the wind on their cheeks, in their hair. Someone who had felt joy, and love, and despair, and anger: someone who had loved someone else. A whole life, whether eighty years or only a few months, marked only by a short hyphen between a pair of years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could you possibly fit everything a person had done, lived, known, or learned in a line between two dates? How could only a piece of granite mark the final resting place of a person who had been just as alive as anyone else once, and that was all? Rey rounded a row of gravestones and turned to the left, looking up at a large memorial on the right as she passed it. An angel looked down at her with sightless stone eyes, stained grey and brown from time and weather. On Rey’s left was a stone cross or two, leaning at strange angles: the ground must be damp from the earlier rain. She kept walking, and at last her feet took her to a white and grey stone, newer than the others, and she knew what the name inscribed on the stone would say before she even saw it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Judith “Jodie” St. Martin-Palpatine. 1973-1998. Beloved Wife and Mother. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey did not remember sliding to her knees in the grass, or clutching her arms, but she found herself doing both, and trembling although the day was warm. Twenty-four, she remembered, because she’d died in the spring, hadn’t she? Rey remembered robins hopping outside the windows, in the grass—and she was almost sure that Mum’s birthday had been in the fall. Mum had died at the age Rey was now. The thought made her feel very strange. Rey reached out and traced the letters with her fingers, fighting hot tears that swelled up in her throat. “Mum,” she croaked, wiping her eyes. “It’s me, it’s Regina— Rey.” She scrubbed her face with her other hand. “You probably wouldn’t even recognize me now, would you? ‘Cause I was four when you died, and I— I wouldn’t even know you either, if I saw you.” Her nose began to run, and she sniffed. “I can’t even remember what you looked like.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gentle summer wind lifted her hair from the back of her neck, and Rey could almost pretend it was a faceless woman’s hand, stroking her damp skin. She closed her eyes. “I came back,” she said, imagining that her mother was sitting beside her: that it was the sort of conditional rule you’d read about in fairy tales— she could close her eyes and Mum would be just there, sitting with her, but open her eyes and look, and Mum would be gone again, gone forever. “I came back, Mum. I’m a writer now, a poet— I’ve won awards and I’m published and all. I think you’d be proud, maybe.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, she would have been proud: Rey suddenly recalled the daybed, being cuddled close and warm, and a woman’s graceful hands, pointing out words on a page: </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Silly old bear, I won’t ever forget about you, said Christopher Robin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You read to me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I remember it now.” So her love of words, of writing, or stories had come from Mum after all. Rey buried her face in her hands. All those years of fear and being hungry and grubby and cold: and a woman dead for twenty years whose face was a mystery to her memory had managed to have a greater impact on her life than any of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I might have been nobody, I might have dropped out and never got my A-levels or left the East End and never tried to write a single poem and never come back here, but for Mum, and I hardly ever thought about her because I didn’t know her, I didn’t remember…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey sat there for a very long time, listening to the wind in the trees of the churchyard and the birds singing in the trees. The sun was beginning to descend toward the horizon, deepening the light to gold and orange, when footsteps approached her, and she closed her eyes, hoping the caretaker of Holy Cross wasn’t about to scold her for loitering. “I’m leaving soon,” she managed to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no answer as the footsteps came closer, crunching heavily on the gravel. Rey sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I said—” A body settled in beside her, and she blinked through tear-blurred eyes: she knew those boots, those dirty jeans, that plaid shirt. “Ben,” she said weakly, and drew her arm over her damp face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say a word, just reached out and tenderly touched the headstone, the name, the dates carved into the granite. Rey hid her head in her hands: she didn’t want him to see her like this. One of his hands came down lightly, resting on her knee, and she took a deep breath, raising her head and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back,” she said, digging her phone out to look at the time: it was almost six. She had missed dinner. “I, I was— it—” Tears choked her, and she gave up. There weren’t any words she could find to explain what had happened somewhere inside her mind in the last hours. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Ben had never needed words. He curled his big hand into hers, and she worked her fingers between his, clutching tightly. The silent message was clear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am here. You are not alone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat like that for a moment, until she could find the strength to stand up, and Ben stood with her, keeping her hand in his. “Bye, Mum,” she said tightly, fighting more tears, and kissed her free hand, pressing it lightly to the cool stone, before turning around and walking away, hand in hand with Ben. She stumbled a few times, unable to see for the tears blurring her eyesight, but Ben guided her steadily all the way to the mint-green Mini, waiting for them patiently in the carpark of Holy Cross.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was still setting as they got out in the gravel drive of Queensbury, the cottage still waiting, the smell of lilacs and roses heavy in the air. Rey had stopped crying, and felt very hot and tired and slow, as if her mind and body had been weighted by iron. </span>
  <span>Ben walked beside her, but didn’t go into the cottage: he tugged her gently by the fingers so that she followed him around the back of the building to the shed, and opened the door. Nestled within the stone, ivy-covered walls stood a brand-new water heater, pipes gleaming. He smiled softly to himself, then stole a glance at her, as if to ask, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do you like it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The new one?” she managed, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, is that— that’s why you took a bit to come fetch me? It arrived when I was gone and you helped them install it?” He nodded proudly, and gave the machine an affectionate pat before closing the door back up. “Well, that’s excellent,” Rey said, half-smiling. “I could use a bath after today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben looked like he wasn’t sure how to take that, and Rey realized in a flash that he probably thought she was talking about the aftermath of the sex they’d had. “Not, not because of you,” she hastily amended, blushing. “I’m just… it’s been a mad day. All things considered. Will you… do you want to take a bath, too? With, ah, with me? After we eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both amber-brown eyes fixed on her face, and Ben nodded very deliberately and slowly, so that she could not possibly mistake the gesture for anything else, and he took her hand again. They walked together back to the door, where he let her in and shut it behind them, then went to the kitchen, getting out things for either a late tea or an early supper: half a chicken pot pie, bread, butter, and the sponge cake topped with strawberries Rey had baked earlier in the week that had turned out surprisingly well. Rey toed off her own shoes and put the kettle on, automatically getting down plates, utensils, cups: setting the table, arranging napkins. Her jumper was too warm, so she tugged it off, and she didn’t miss the look on Ben’s face as he eyed up her bare arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They moved in companionable silence, circling each other, touching lightly: a hand on Ben’s lower back as Rey moved around the counter, Ben’s fingers brushing her shoulder as he indicated something on the table. All their eating was done in silence: all the washing done the same. He stood so close to her at the sink that his hip and thigh pressed against hers, and Rey dried the wet, clean dishes as studiously as she could, an awful, burning desire for him aching in the pit of her belly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not going to make it past the bath,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought dimly, closing her eyes as he reached around behind her to pick up a dirty fork she had forgotten. Warm, and huge, and close. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need him, I need him, why doesn’t he—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he breathed into her ear, the first words she’d heard him speak since she’d left that morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she whispered, hardly daring to move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lounge?” His voice was straining a little, as if it couldn’t be held in at the seams anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew precisely what he was asking for, and set the tea towel down. Without another word, she took him by the wrists and led him into the snug little sitting area, the only lounge they had, and moved him to sit on the sofa while she built the fire in the stove up. Just how he had showed her, too: kindling at the bottom, sticks, then the heavy logs. A match, gentle blowing, and the blaze was kindled into a cheery glow, bathing the room in golden light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey turned around, hands on her thighs. Ben was sitting on the edge of the recliner, head bent, large hands trapped between his arms and sides as if he was hugging himself. “Ben,” she said softly, and his head rose, those deep, wild, green-gold-brown eyes staring right into her soul. Silent as ever, he rose up, walked the foot to her where she still knelt, and reached down, thick fingers caressing her head, her face, her cheek. She half-closed her eyes, perfectly content to just stay here on the floor, but he had other ideas, it seemed. Ben bent and raised her up by the elbows, his absurdly large hand cupping the back of her head, and pressed his brow to hers, mouth shut tight as he made a soft, rough sound through his nose and pulled her even closer with his other hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey brought her own hands up to pluck at the buttons that kept his shirt fastened to his body, and he smelled of the stables, of sweat and sun and good honest earth. Off came the plaid shirt, tugged down his shoulders, and she traced the scars on his chest with as delicate a touch as she could muster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How unfair,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, her thumb gliding over a ridge of tough, healed skin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that he never had a friend, ever, all alone for so long. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben made a guttural sound in his throat. Rey looked up and saw tears gathering in his eyes. “No, don’t cry, don’t,” she said, wiping them away with her fingers. The scar on his face was rough, and she had to dab at it to get the tears off. “It’s all right— d’you want me to stop? Or—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head shook roughly, and he took her hand in his, pressing her palm flat against his cheek and turning his head to kiss it. His beard felt prickly-soft against her hand, and she stroked that, too, with her fingers as those eyes bored into her, full of… awe? Wonder? Fear? Rey couldn’t tell. “Should, should I get you a paper, so you c—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nobody’s ever... touched me like you touch me,” he blurted out, trembling at the effort. “Don’t stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” she told him, and held his face as she kissed him, trying her best to touch everything she could reach: his hair, soft and thick; his bare back, smooth where it wasn’t marked by old scars. Shoulders, arms, hands: he wound them around her and kissed her back like a starved man devouring a meal as the fire popped and crackled in the stove behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben couldn’t stop kissing her, once he got started: she tugged him to the sofa and crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs, undoing his fly to get at him and still he kissed her, frantic and hungry, like he thought she might leave him after all. He let her pin his wrists to the back of the sofa, his neck still straining to reach her as she held him there and leaned back, grinding slowly down on his lap, rubbing herself against the very obvious cock swollen heavy and hard in his trousers. A faint moan escaped his lips, and he fell back, helpless as she ground down on him, lips reddened and wet like ripe fruit. “Please,” he begged, shutting his eyes and thrusting his hips up toward her body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, keep your hands where I left them,” Rey told him, and something like a growl burst out of his throat, but he waited, wrists where she had put them, watching her through cautious eyes as she slid off his lap and tugged his jeans off, then her own, leaving them both in socks and pants before she took off her shirt, too, and sat back on his lap in her underthings. “Better view?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A whine left his lips as his fingers flexed: he wanted to touch her so badly, but wouldn’t, not until she told him so. “Please,” he whispered again, eyes fixed on her breasts bouncing slightly in their plain white bra. She wished she had brought nicer underwear, but never in a million years had she dreamed she would have needed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, I think they’ve gotten a bit bigger,” she said, cupping them in her own hands as if testing the weight and size. “I think country life agrees with me. Bit of muscle from walking, bit of weight from decent food for once, yeah? Beats chip shops for dinner, that’s for sure. Sometimes all I had for dinner and tea together was a cuppa, even after I got the money from the book sales, because I’d just got used to how it had been with Dad for so long, and—” Suddenly, she felt guilty: Ben was staring at her in bewilderment. She’d meant to tease, and now she was talking about her awful old eating habits. “I— I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t go hungry,” he whispered, and shook his head. “Rey. You won’t. Not with me, not here.” His lands left the place she’d left them and glided up her sides. “Look. Can’t see your ribs anymore.” And that was true, too: she’d hardly noticed, but she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> filled out a little— there was a glow in her cheeks she’d seen in the mirror lately that she’d never had in London, she was almost spilling out of her double-A bras, and her trousers had gotten a bit snug in the backside. His fingers brushed the new, soft swells of flesh above the edges of her bra cups, and Rey swallowed hard, fighting her own tears: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you won’t go hungry here </span>
  </em>
  <span>rang in her ears like a welcome-home bell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll take care of me?” she asked, voice shakier than she wanted it to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’ll let me,” murmured Ben, leaning in and kissing her chest, tongue slipping over her breast, fingers tugging off her bra. She let him do it, watching his shaggy dark head move as he sucked and nipped and licked at each of her breasts, her nipples going hard and rosy: he kissed the four freckles that ran across her torso from shoulder to breast, he gripped her waist and kissed her throat, and Rey couldn’t help but cling to his head, fighting tears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wanted to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, I’ll let you do anything you want to me: love me, take care of me, stay with me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but she couldn’t make herself say it, and Ben didn’t seem to mind. He kept kissing her until his fingers hooked down boldly into her pants, gliding back and forth along her abdomen, and Rey let out a little gasp as he delved in further, fingers exploring her cunt, her slick and parted flesh, the soft curls down there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to ask this time. “I want, I want you to f-fuck me on the sofa,” she gasped, hugging his head and neck. “Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he grunted, and lifted her: standing, turning, positioning both of them and readying himself so that she was bent over the arm, sock-clad feet on the floor. Ben’s broad hips were crammed into the space between her thighs and his cock rested thick and hot along her backside, pressed snug between their bodies. “This?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Rey gasped, and covered her own mouth to stop the awful noises as he worked himself in gently. It ached, but it was the sort of ache you got from lifting something heavy too soon after doing it once already, the stretch and burn of protesting muscle and flesh. “Aaah, ah, Ben, Ben,” she babbled, legs open for him, his hand burying itself in her hair as his cock buried itself in her body. “Ben, Ben, Ben, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re fuckin’ thick, shit—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thick?” he echoed, and gripped her ass with his free hand, making her squeal. “Pot. Kettle. Black.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she said, laughing breathlessly as he bottomed out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ooh</span>
  </em>
  <span>— you’re not allowed to make, to make comments about my arse </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” Ben had pulled back and slammed deep, knocking the air out of her lungs as a sound like a feral animal escaped his throat. “Aah, ah ah ah oh fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dirty mouth,” he groaned, his other fingers leaving her hair and both hands gripping her waist hard. She thought in a flash how ridiculous they must look: both naked as birds with their socks still on, fucking over the arm of a sofa. “Still taste, taste so fuckin’ good, though. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could barely get any clitoral stimulation like this, but it didn’t matter: something similar was building, somewhere deep she’d never felt before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Christ, fuck, I didn’t think I could, I could, I could— </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Ben, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m going to c-c-come, I’m, it’s ah, ah, it’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come,” he demanded, keeping the pace even and punishing, and Rey roared, body wound tight, as something released deep inside her, as she bore down on him and howled and jerked and came, and the minute she’d relaxed again Ben pulled her off the sofa, turning her, frantically laying her out on the floor and working himself back between her thighs, bracing himself above her with a red, strained face, his eyes trained on hers. “Come again,” he gasped. “Please. Don’t… care how. Want to see you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey almost whimpered out loud, but showed him how to raise her legs so that they were hooked up over his shoulders, bracketing his neck, and when he started fucking into her again in good, solid thrusts, her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck!” she wailed, and covered her mouth with her hands in embarrassment, but he reached out and tugged them away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want to hear you,” Ben whispered, half-crooning, bent over her body and giving her all he had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Rey couldn’t stand it. “Fine, </span><em><span>fine, </span></em><span>fuck fuck fuck, Ben, </span><em><span>aaaaaauuugh, </span></em><span>fuck, shit, shit, don’t s-stop don’t, don’t, </span><em><span>fuck</span></em><span> you’re fucking hitting my, m-my </span><em><span>Ben</span></em> <em><span>I’m gonna c—”</span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held onto her, fucking her through it, watching her avidly as she shrieked through the second one, shaking like a possessed woman. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So that's a vaginal orgasm,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought blearily, trying to come back to her own body as he dragged her up off the floor and gathered her into his lap, his rhythm still going, slow and gentle now. “I can’t… again,” she panted, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “Can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?” he asked, his hand working its way between them, thumb rubbing at her poor ignored clitoris, and Rey jolted up, mouth open in a silent O of shock. “Not again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay, okay, maybe again,” she gasped, thighs shuddering as he worked gently at her. “May, maybe—ohhh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck, Ben, that’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes or no?” he prompted softly, hips thrusting up into her as his thumb worked inexorably at her clit. “No?” Ben’s fingers slowed, and she wriggled in despair at the loss, gasping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave her back the touch she needed, his fingers playing her with all the deft sureness of an artist, and it only took a minute before she was coming apart again, warm and flooded and floating away, wailing wordlessly into his shoulder in release. “Rey,” he murmured, letting her shriek it out until she slumped, boneless, against his chest. “Got you. Mmm. Rey.” She was dazed, sleepy, sated: Ben lowered her down to the floor, securing his place between her thighs again, and kissed her throat before he buried his face in her hair, spread out in a pool on the rug, and began to move again in sharp little thrusts, panting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only took a moment, it seemed. Rey reached up and stroked his thick, soft hair, and Ben cried out, strangled and hoarse, as his hips jerked and shuddered and slowed into a broken, soft pace. Warmth burst between her legs, and Ben sighed deeply, then raised his head, resting his scruffy cheek on her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither of them moved for a while. Rey closed her eyes, anchored to the floor by Ben’s weight and baking warm on the left side of her body. The fire glowed bright as the sunlight slowly faded from the sky outside. She kept her hand in his hair, listening to his breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he stirred, raising his head and looking up at her with sleepy, warm eyes. “I need a bath,” she said softly, smiling down at him. “You too, I think.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben rolled his head to the side, resting his cheek on her chest. “Mm-mm,” he grunted, shutting his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah-huh, come on,” she goaded, tugging at his ear, which stuck up from his hair like the curve of a rising moon. “Remember? We were going to take a bath together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Ben, and jerked straight up. “Mm.” He peeled himself away from her, sighing, and helped her stand, and together they made their way up the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The new water-heater was the best thing Rey had ever imagined. Steaming hot water came through the pipes in seconds, not half an hour, and the tub filled up as she laid out fresh underwear and her robe, Ben intent on sprinkling Epsom salts into the water as it rose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good for sore muscles,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought, slipping back into the steamy bathroom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll need it after today.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned the tap off and looked at her, indicating the water with a hand. Rey climbed in, sighing as the water sloshed hot around her shoulders, then scooted back to make room. “You, too,” she said, and Ben lowered himself in, echoing her sigh and closing his eyes as he positioned himself so that her legs curved around his waist, his thighs supporting her backside. They faced each other, the steam slowly dampening their hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll wash you,” Rey whispered, and reached for the washcloth and soap, tugging him forward and starting to gently scrub his skin clean of sweat and dirt. Ben let her do it, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret, and when she was done, she took her shampoo, squeezing a generous dollop into her hands and nodding at him. “Turn round and I’ll wash your hair,” she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben nodded slowly, then turned his body carefully until he was sitting between her thighs, his backside pressed against her. Rey reached up and began to work her fingers into his hair, massaging and scrubbing, and he moaned, actually moaned aloud and went stiff, his ears turning red as he gripped the edge of the tub with wet hands for support. “You all right?” she asked, pausing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” Ben managed, and she continued washing him, lathering his hair to the ends before she pulled him back to dip his head in the water, rinsing it clear. When he leaned back, he had tears in his eyes, and Rey politely said nothing about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He washed her, then, next, and she closed her eyes and let him scrub her down as if he was currying a horse, in circular, firm motions. Thick, careful fingers scrubbed through her hair, too, and rinsed it clean of lather, and by the time they were done, both of them were flushed, the bathwater dingy as they rose out of it and rinsed off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben stepped close to Rey, naked and wet, and she willingly went to him, wrapping her water-chilled arms close around his shoulders, almost on her toes. He held her solidly in place against him as if he’d been made of marble. “You want to go to bed?” she whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he responded, nosing into her hair. He was half-hard already, his cock rising against her hip. “Bed or… sleep?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her poor abused nethers were sore and tender, but she felt a surge of desire flood her anyway. “Oh, God,” she uttered, forehead pressed to his chest. “I don’t know how much more of your, ah, your—you know, I can take.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a mouth,” he said softly, pressing a kiss into her hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A mouth. Oh, yes, he did have a mouth, and a shockingly talented mouth at that, didn’t he? Rey drew back, blushing. “You do,” she conceded. “And I have hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Ben’s turn to blush. “Oh,” he said, sounding stunned as she reached down and wrapped her fingers around his now fully-hard cock. “Ah—” He stepped away, scarlet, and covered his groin with one large hand as he looked away: Rey felt guilty. She hadn’t asked, had she? Just assumed. Maybe he didn’t want her to touch him like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t mean, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bed,” he said roughly, unable to look her in the eyes, and shuffled out with a towel, Rey following in his wake to the bedroom, which was waiting for them, all made up and ready.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat on the bed, still shielding his crotch from view, and took a few deep breaths, looking at her sideways. “You shouldn’t… touch it,” he said helplessly, voice cracking as he closed his eyes. “Like that. Your hands. Too pretty to, to, to touch me like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t say anything when I had my mouth on it,” Rey reminded him, sitting beside him on the bed. Ben flinched and shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was different,” he rasped, eyes still shut. “I’m, it’s— you have hands that make, that write beautiful things, they shouldn’t... touch anything ugly like m-my, my—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugly?” Rey said, mouth dropping open in indignation as her brain short-circuited and the East End came flooding out of her mouth. “Are you having a laugh? Fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ugly? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Your cock? Jesus Christ, Ben. You’ve got the fuckin’ nicest looking cock I’ve ever seen in my life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he protested, his hair sticking to his flushed forehead as he shook his head in denial, “no, it’s—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Rey insisted, climbing up on the bed behind him, hands spread out flat on his chest, thighs cradling his. Ben made to shake her off, embarrassed, but she kissed his shoulder. “No, don’t— look, you hold it. Hold it for me. Show me how you, how you—” A small breath escaped Ben’s lips, and he reached down, curling his thick fingers around his cock. In his hand, it looked almost average-sized. Rey found his bicep with one hand and trailed her fingers down slowly, slowly, until her palm rested along his, cupping the hand gripping his erection. “Show me how you make yourself come,” she whispered, peering over his shoulder. “I want to see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was so red she thought he might melt like an ice cream. “I c-can’t, not, not with you watching,” he managed, scarlet blotches blooming on his chest and throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?” Rey didn’t push him. “Can I do it for you, then? Will you let me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, I—” He shifted his weight, thighs taut. The head of his cock was leaking pearly fluid, staining his fingers. “F-fuck, okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had to use both of her hands to grasp him properly, and Ben went stiff between her arms and legs, whimpering a little as she began to pump at him. “You’ll have to show me how to make you come,” she told him, kissing his shoulder again. “I want to help you. Show me how to help you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A torn sound ripped from his throat, and he reached down for her hands, guiding them into a faster pace, a tighter grip. “Th-that,” he choked, head bent forward. A pale scar on the back of his left shoulder gleamed like silver in the lamplight. Rey kissed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty,” she whispered against his skin. She wanted to make him come, wanted it like nothing she’d ever wanted before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This poor man, all alone, thinking he was too ugly and different and strange to be touched, or loved, or wanted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How could she have ever thought him odd-looking? “Ben, you’re so good, you’re so lovely.” The only answer she got out of him was a strangled sob. “I’ll let you take care of me,” she continued, working away at him. “You can, you can do anything you like to me, for me, anything: just let me do this for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rey,” he groaned, his long, pale toes curling as he sought to brace himself. “Oh, God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say it,” Rey insisted, gentle as she could. “Say you’re good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s voice cracked as he struggled toward his peak: he must be closer than she’d thought. “Ah— ah, ‘m not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you are, say it for me.” She wouldn’t have denied him a climax for not saying it— she wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> cruel— but he twisted in her lap, gasping and choking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d thought he might be unable to speak, but Ben sucked in a ragged, desperate breath, and forced out a hoarse, “I’m g-good, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m good,” before clinging to the bed and riding out his climax, dissolving into a shuddering mess of sweat and labored breathing as he came apart, his cock spurting whitish, sticky cum all over his thighs, his belly, and her hands. Rey held onto him, half-afraid he’d fall right off the bed if she didn’t, and once his breathing had returned to normal she extricated herself from the tangle of his sweat-damp limbs and got a wet cloth from the bathroom, coming back and wiping him down, then tossing the cloth back into the bathroom. The laundry could wait. Ben lay supine with one hand over his eyes, chest heaving gently. She crawled in alongside him and rested her head on his chest, finally cuddling him close like she’d wanted to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t seem to understand what she was doing for a moment, but accepted it: he stroked her hair, touched her bare shoulder, let his fingers explore her breasts. “You… your turn,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey shook her head, feeling perfectly content (and still a little sore between the legs, but he didn’t need to feel self-conscious about that). </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is enough. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m all right,” she said softly, kissing his chest. He smelled of soap, and tasted like faint salt, like the ocean. “You want to sleep here tonight?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he grunted, touching her arm lightly, the calloused fingertips trailing little circles around her elbow. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was asleep by the time she got up to go pee, and she covered him up with her blankets and sheets when she came back to the room. He was not a heavy sleeper, ordinarily (he’d woken in an instant that morning) but he only snuffled and rolled over when she tucked the blankets around his warm, naked body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey watched him for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then, she got up, put her robe on, and stole down to the lounge in the dark, where she opened her notebook to a fresh page and began to write, and write, and write.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>August came sooner than Rey had expected, and with it even more blustery days and gray rain, but every so often a precious blue-sky, crisp-aired evening would break over the fields, and she and Ben would do the chores together as fast as they could, then go walking together. Since the sun didn’t set until nearly ten o’clock at night, they had plenty of time, and they spent it well: they walked, they sat in the lounge while Rey read him passages out of books in the cottage, they ate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey had finished her third book, with revisions, in early July, and mailed it to her publisher. Now all that remained was pretending she didn’t have to go back to London by the end of the month, which was becoming harder to ignore, especially with the repeated emails from her agents, asking for readings or appearances or events. She wished she could fling her phone into the Kennet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Ms Palpatine, are you interested in</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ms Palpatine, I am writing to inform you of </span>
  </em>
  <span>this and that and the other. As if she was interested in anything but Ben, and the cottage, and the wild downs that seemed free and open as London could never be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As for Ben, he was just as reticent as he had always been, and still did not speak to strangers or even to Rey hardly at all except for intimate moments, but he went with her everywhere, even to the open mic nights at the Green Oak, where they had a small table in the back, and he smiled, watching Rey as she sang along to music and clapped and laughed. He was silent again when they were alone, secluded: in the Mini or out on walks, hand in hand without anyone else to see, but he always played piano in the evenings, the tune he had first played the day she had gone upstairs, a love-letter without words floating across the open drive to the cottage for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t wanted to stay permanently in the cottage: he had stubbornly insisted on paper that he should leave her alone during the night, since they both had work to do and needed sleep, and while Rey could see the wisdom of two people not inviting distractions when one had a farm to run and the other a poetry book to finish, she really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> missed it. Once or twice, when the bed in the cottage had just gotten too big and cold and empty, she had managed to sneak into the stable and up the stairs to his rooms, and he had sighed and relented, allowing her to climb in with him, warm and cozy under the blankets and quilts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, they could not truly spend time with each other like that: so the place between supper and going to bed, in the golden summer evening sunshine was where they met and walked together. He always had some little present for her: a rose from the garden, a leaf he thought was pretty, a rock, a small treasure of the earth. Rey felt as if she was a bird being courted, but she couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it, not when he was so earnest. He did not initiate sex, preferring, it seemed, to let her tell him when she wanted it, and then enthusiastically reciprocate— as a result, they did not do it nearly as often as Rey would have liked, because she was afraid of pushing him, or coming off as nagging for it, or— she didn’t know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The grand total of their sexual exploits amounted to, apart from the first few days, only twice in as many months: once in his bed above the stables, and once in the cottage kitchen, which Rey blushed to think about days later. Ben had lifted her right up on the table when she’d practically begged him to in the middle of baking tarts, and had her with his hands covered in flour, and they’d had to wash everything after. But even so, she wished he’d be more forthright and speak again: it was exhausting trying to figure out what he was thinking all the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the twentieth of August, Ben led her north, up a footpath off the road she had never been before, one with tall, stately old oaks in an unused, old pasture where the grasses had grown tall, whispering in the wind, and when he led her to the heart of the grove, into the open space there, she looked around in delight. The yellow sunshine drenched the branches, gold and green falling down together, and the floor of the grove was carpeted in moss and old leaves, nodding with bluebells. “It’s beautiful,” she told him, smiling as he watched her take in the branches overhead, the light, the birds singing. “My God, these oaks are ancient. They must have been here during the Roman invasion— what have you got there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben was fumbling with his pocket. He drew out an envelope and handed it to her with quivering fingers, then withdrew a few feet, turning away from her and sitting down in the bracken, shoulders hunched. Bewildered at his mood, Rey opened the envelope, pulling out a letter, and began to read the hastily-scrawled, yet legible, writing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear</span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span> Ms. Palpatine </span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span>Rey, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you have to go back to London. It’s killing me. Eating me alive. I’ve been trying to write this for days and I can’t figure out how to make the words say what I want to, which is almost worse than not being able to talk half the time, even around you. I kept thinking to myself that if I didn’t push you into having sex with me, maybe it would be easier for both of us when you go back, but I </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>think (not sure) </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>think it might not matter at this point. I feel like I’m stuck in my own brain again, worse than before: I can barely speak to even you because of how scared I am that you’ll disappear and never come back. You, who think I’m good, even after you know what I did. You, the only good thing I’ve ever had in my life, you make me feel like a man and a human being </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>and not a fucking m</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know what to do. Or say. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Half the time I feel like a child again, terrified and alone, and the other half I feel like half a man who’ll never feel anything again if you go, but I know I can’t ask you to stay here with me. That’s just a dream, and it would be selfish. You have a life to live in London, far away from here, but you’ll always have a place here if you want to come back, where you’ll be taken care of. I know this place isn’t easy for you to be at, like it’s not easy for me, but if you came once a year, only once, I think I could stay forever. If you decide not to come back, I’ll understand why. I’ll stay as long as the account he left for me is still paying out, and then I’ll go. You can sell the place, auction it, whatever you want. I’ll make it as easy as I can for both of us. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know what you’ll do when you read this letter. I’m planning on taking you to see my favorite place on the whole estate. I used to sneak up there as a boy all the time and pretend I was a knight... I don’t know if you’ll read this and leave, or just say something nice to me, or— I don’t know. I just hope you do whatever you feel is right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely, Ben</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The letter dropped from Rey’s trembling hands. “Ben,” she croaked, barely able to see him through tears. He turned from his seat in the leaves, but all she could make out was a pale blur. “Ben, did you honestly, you really, you thought I’d just leave and sell this place and turn you out into the street?” A ragged sound caught her ear: Ben was crying. “Never,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Never in a million years would I do that, not ever—you, you, you have no idea what you m-mean to me, Ben.” She stumbled to him, unseeing, and he caught her in his arms, tucking her into his thick, solid embrace, his fingers cupping her neck as she cried. “You were so patient with me when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> how Granddad was, and, and I believed all he said at first and you didn’t, I mean, you weren’t cruel about it, and I, I understood so m-much when I started </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> you more—” His hands tightened and he kissed her on the head, blunt and quick and tentative. She sniffled hard and pressed her cheek to his chest. “And you never pressured me into sex, Ben, never ever— I liked it so much, every second of it, I wanted, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>want you so much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay,” Ben begged, voice hoarse from disuse. His forehead went right where it belonged, into her shoulder, and he let out a little sob. “Just… for summers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, I—” Rey cast around in her mind for some solution as she clung to him, anything. “I have to go back to London, but I, I could move here, couldn’t I? For good? It’s cheaper, I think, and, and I own the place anyway. Might sell the flat for money, I guess. I would have to go and change my address, of course, and get my things in order and packed up, and, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben held her away from him almost violently at arms’ length, searching her face as if he wasn’t sure she was actually saying what he thought she was. “M-move here?” he asked, his voice cracking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Permanently?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. Yes. I mean, it’s so much more… it’s closer to home,” she explained, choking a little as tears threatened to break past the dam again. “And you. And it’s my house, anyway. I ought to take some part in keeping it maintained, I think. Unless you think we should tear down that ugly brick thing and keep the cottage, which I’m all for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We,” he echoed, as if something had struck him in the head. “You want… to live here. With me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do,” Rey insisted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You… you want </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His cheeks colored deeply, and she swallowed at the sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. In every way. In exactly the way you’re thinking about right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he spoke again, it was clear, rough, and low. “Jesus Christ.” One step, and his mouth was on hers, kissing her like she was oxygen and he was a drowning man, devouring, pulling her in, deep, close. “Can we—here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God, yes,” Rey panted, trying to take her clothes off and kiss him at the same time. All the pent up sexual frustration of the past weeks was exploding out, and she almost punched him trying to yank his shirt off, tugging him down to the floor of the grove. “Don’t, don’t talk if you don’t w-want to, you don’t have to—” His mouth closed on her right nipple, and she squealed. “Ben! Shit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want to,” he growled against her chest, and both his big hands were deftly taking down her jeans, her knickers: they tangled around her knees. “Wanted to. Wanted to do this, too.” Ben moved his hand between her legs, rubbing firmly at the front, at the tenderest parts, and Rey moaned aloud, feeling heat rush her, wetness drip out. He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers, his cheeks hollowed, lips obscenely plump, and she blushed furiously. “Like the sea,” he decided, and slipped his hand back down between her legs, slipping a wet finger into her, gently stretching her open, working her until she whined and demanded another, which he gave her. “I won’t… be rough with you,” he promised, wrapping his free arm around her naked back and tugging her into his lap, his other hand working between her legs. “Won’t make you sore after. I know how to, now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had forgotten how much she missed hearing that voice of his. “Please,” she gritted out between her teeth, “I just, I want—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what you want,” he whispered, “but you… have to wait.” A third finger went into her, and she let her mouth fall open in a soundless, desperate O as he worked her clit with his thumb. “You have to come first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ben,” she gasped, and reached down herself, rubbing at her clit blindly as his fingers pumped inside her. “Ben, Ben, Ben, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” and she was lost, washed away in golden warmth and blissed-out and happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she was done, he laid her down gently in the bracken, on her belly, and slid himself in: he entered easily, simply, as if he belonged there. “Better this way,” he muttered, bracing himself on his arms, on either side of her head. “Won’t… hit you too deep. Or hurt you. Oh, God. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’re wet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had never heard him talk this much during sex before. “Tell me,” she begged, gripping his wrists. “Tell me what it feels like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S-soft, wet, hot— c-close all around me,” he managed, his rhythm sure and steady. “Ah, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rey—I can’t, talk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> this—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t, don’t talk,” she gasped, and his hips jerked, shuddered, and stilled as he cried aloud, spilling over inside her, his mouth pressed to her bare nape as he came down. “I love you,” came out of her mouth before she had realized she was even going to say it, and covered her face in horror: what if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Ben was panting like he’d run a mile, and he pulled out of her, rolled her over, dragged her up into his arms, and clutched her close, shaking, face buried in her neck. Bracken was stuck to her body, but she couldn't have cared less. “Rey,” he wept, collapsing onto his ass in the dead leaves, still holding her tight as his shaking legs sprawled out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Rey.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What could she do but hold on to him, hug him tight? Who had even been the last person to tell him that they loved him? His mother? His father? “I do,” babbled Rey, stroking his hair. “I love you, Ben, I do—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wet sob escaped his throat, and he crushed his face against her cheek in the sloppiest kiss he’d ever given her, mouthing at her jaw, rocking her a little. “R-Rey,” he stammered, trying to force out the words. “I— I—” His jaw clenched against her cheek, and he shook his head slightly in frustration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to tell me now,” she whispered, clinging to him. “Shh. You tell me when you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He curled his hands tightly around her, clinging to her like he was afraid she’d change her mind and leave him on the spot. After a minute, Ben let go, pressing a little kiss to her temple, and got up on wobbly knees, pulling his disheveled clothes back on. His dark hair was stuck to his forehead in thick, damp strands, and as he helped her up and handed her back her shirt, a deep crimson stain bloomed over his cheeks. “When… do you go?” he managed, rubbing his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The twenty-eighth,” Rey said softly, slipping her hand into his. “Let’s walk back. The sun’s getting lower.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-eighth,” he echoed, gazing down at her. “Eight days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The look in his eyes was making her a bit weak in the knees, a little tongue-tied. “I suppose, I suppose you would like, ah, you have, you want to do some… things in those eight days?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some,” he affirmed, walking along with her, hand in hand. “You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Rey bit the inside of her cheek. “Mostly, um. Sex things.” She cringed: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a published writer and I can’t think of any better words than ‘sex things’?</span>
  </em>
  <span> But Ben looked wonderstruck anyway, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he said roughly, looking away, then back at her. He did not speak another word for the rest of the walk home, and neither did Rey: the sun set, and the cottage was waiting. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the end of the eight days, Rey was afraid she might have overdone it on Ben: he was pale, dark circles from sleepless nights shadowing his reddened eyes, but his sexual appetite had apparently never been more alive and keen, as if once the floodgates had been blown open, they were staying like that. He was late doing chores almost every day for the first time since she’d arrived.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>It feels like second puberty,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wrote to her on scraps of paper, </span>
  <em>
    <span>like I can’t fucking stop, can’t get enough of you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And maybe she felt the same way, if she was being honest. Exhaustion crept up on her in the middle of the day, her legs ached, her abdominals were delightfully sore, and she was hungry all the time— but she still couldn’t get enough of Ben, not even in sleep. They slept either tucked into his airy loft in the stables under old quilts or in her snug cottage with the fire dying to coals, but together, either way, curled around each other like they would never let go again.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He woke her up before the sun rose on the twenty-eighth, desperately humping her thigh, half-asleep himself. “Rey,” he rasped, hoarse and wanting, and she rolled over in bed, kissing Ben, everything between her legs throbbing in a slow and lazy cadence as she hooked her calves around the back of his knees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A summer ago, in a similar situation, she might have said</span>
  <em>
    <span> well, it’s the day, I’ve got to pack. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Today, though, Rey found she didn’t need words at all as she slipped her hands up his bare sides, brushing his nipples, tracing his ribs. They were still naked from the night before, their bodies slow and sleep-warm as they crushed each other closer in the dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thigh to thigh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought, closing her eyes to savor the sensation as Ben’s hand moved to play between her legs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hip to hip. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His hands were warm and broad, and she moaned a little as his fingers breached her, giving and giving and taking nothing away. “Ben,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never taking, always giving, my Ben— and I just take and take. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped and kissed her wet cheeks, humming her song, the one he’d made just for her, and Rey closed her eyes and listened to it, smiling instead of crying, while he slowly began to move again, so close and so careful that she forgot where her body ended and where his began. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drove her to the train station in Swindon. It was a half hour’s drive in the Mini through beautiful scenery, and Rey hardly saw any of it: all she wanted to look at was Ben: his freshly-shaved face, with its softly tapered chin and sharp cheekbones, weak, tightly-knotted jaw… he should have looked strange, but instead he looked like some ancient, long-forgotten Celtic god, with his forest-colored, triangular eyes and his lush dark hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That mouth, soft and full, made her want to ask him to pull the car over, to use it again as she already had the moment he’d stepped out of the bathroom… but they were already going to be a bit late, so she contented herself with thoughts of his smooth cheeks pressed against her thighs, his tongue, his lips. Ben wore his cleanest shirt, a blue chambray, and a very nice charcoal wool overcoat with a high collar she was almost sure he’d nicked from Granddad’s closets. His knuckles were tight on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road. Maybe he didn’t want to look at her, she thought, turning her hands over and over in her lap. Maybe he wanted to hold onto the memories as long as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pulled into Swindon, weaving slowly through traffic, and Ben’s shoulders tensed. Rey felt a stab of pity: it couldn’t be easy being here, not for him. He pulled into the carpark for the station and let out a sigh that sounded like he had been holding it since Queensbury. “You… have everything?” he asked thickly, still not looking at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Rey said, setting her phone aside. “Ben?” Golden-brown eyes met hers, full of poorly-masked grief and tears. “Oh, God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she exclaimed in sympathy, unbuckling her seatbelt and slipping her hands into his. “I’ll be back, I swear, I’ll text you every day, yeah? Every night, at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll come back,” he said, reaching up and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ll come back to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Rey kissed his nose gently and reached back for her bags. “As soon as I can. I’ve got to get everything in order, and then— then I’ll come back. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the break. Maybe you’ll sleep through the night, finally.” She smiled at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A flush bloomed on his high, pale cheeks. “Rey.” He reached for her hand and clasped it in his massive one. That full mouth worked slightly, his jaw tightening, in the motion she knew meant that he was working up the fortitude to speak, and she waited, rubbing his hand gently with her thumb and looking away: eye contact made him nervous, and she didn’t want— “Look at me,” he said quietly, and she did, surprised. Ben looked determined, an expression which on him she’d once interpreted as sullen anger, and he took a small breath before meeting her eyes. “I love you,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only a whisper, half-terrified, but Rey’s eyes filled with tears. She lurched into him and hugged him close, inhaling the woolen smell of the coat stretched tight across his broad shoulders and the faintest, clinging scent of leather and hay as he brought his arms up to embrace her. “I’m coming back,” she promised, and he clutched her like he’d never let her go.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did, of course, have to let her go eventually, because the train left at ten sharp. Rey looked out the window as they pulled away, willing herself not to cry as she fixed her eyes on the gray-coated, broad figure who had braved the strange crowds and the city to see her off one last time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goodbye, Granddad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rey thought victoriously as the gray blot that was Ben disappeared into the distance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goodbye forever. I’ll make new memories there now, ones that have nothing to do with horrible old you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Razing that awful house to the ground would be a start— saving the piano, of course, and anything else of real value. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are we going to put that? It won’t fit in the cottage. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe, then, a new house ought to be built. She let herself briefly think of hallways, a big bright kitchen, a garden— perhaps a couple of bedrooms— and then put the thoughts away on the shelf of her mind to wait to be perused again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no writing to be done on this trip. Her feelings no longer had to find an outlet, to stream out of her like a waterfall— she held them close as they roiled within her, embracing them as fully as she might embrace a hurricane. </span>
  <span>Her phone vibrated as the train began to pick up speed, chugging away toward London. She glanced down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you already,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It feels hopeless already, this drive back, because I know you’re not going to be at the end of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rey brushed her tears away and smiled as she tapped out a response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing is hopeless; we must hope for everything. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His response was quick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Euripedes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she texted, and tapped out </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, I love you, I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a whole paragraph until she deleted it all and wrote simply, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m coming back to you, I promise. You’re at the end of my trip.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he replied, and Rey rested her head against the window and let tears stream down her cheeks as the English countryside flew past. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Copyright: Harper Collins, 2021 by Rey Palpatine. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>All rights reserved.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>this book is dedicated to the memory of love: love that shaped us, love that is still shaping us, love that will continue to shape us. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>above all, this book is dedicated to love without words, which is greater than any I could possibly put down on paper, and which I, to my delight,  learn more and more about each day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>here grow the roses. </em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and we're done! thank you so much everyone for reading, leaving comments, and generally being awesome while i word hurl my brain matter all over the place, I love you all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>